#//probably suspects bob Did Things to her

[paleontaxi]

//also been thinking about the bitterness in jarod’s voice when he says, “she always liked bob.”

#🚕 ☲☲☲ ✘ what did i say about disturbing the customers ? 【 ooc 】 #//it's that ''i know you exploited my young confused vulnerable daughter'' voice #//honestly lola moving into the brigade camp at 16... #//being around quite a few *older men*... #//jarod was definitely like HHHH #//probably suspects bob Did Things to her #//and whether he did or not is wholly irrelevant #//bob definitely did exploit lola emotionally if nothing else #//getting a literal child involved in an extremist terrorist plot #//based on what little i've seen of him #//i don't think he's actually the type to do anything else to lola #//but he's definitely not? good? #//he's the leader of the brigades and the most violent and extreme of all of them So #//point is no matter what #//jarod sees his teen daughter going to live in a camp with her much older biology teacher #//even if they were in separate trailers #//and he's like :) Interesting :) #//and he is gonna take his sweet sweeeeeeeeeet time with bob that's for sure #//he canonically does kidnap bob at the end of the game 💛 #//fucking good for him 💛 #//i wanna write jarod torturing the everloving shit out of bob so bad i've been thinking about it all day

[rogueddie]

It takes Steve an embarassingly long moment to realise that the spray isn't doing anything. He tries shaking it… nothing. He even checks by spraying it on his hand, shaking it again. Nothing.

He tries listening as he shakes it again and, though he's sure there's some product still left inside, nothing will come out.

He reluctantly throws it in the little trash can, just next to the toilet door. He doesn't bother rooting through the draws or cabinets either; he'd used the last of his emergency powder kit yesterday. There's nothing left.

He huffs, folding his arms, glaring at his reflection. Specifically at the very overgrown, bright blond roots of his hair.

It brings up the same anxiety he's been having for the past month. It's taken him a long time to save up for his usual hairdressers. He hadn't thought it would take so long but, with the kids and now Robin and Eddie, it shouldn't be that surprising.

Robin often pays a good chunk for things too, often paying him gas money, but it's usually him paying for everything. And now that he's paying rent in his own little appartment? He's not often left with that much at the end of the month.

He's starting to think it's not worth the trip. But he isn't going to start using box dye or anything cheap. He's spent a long time taking care of his hair, spent just as long struggling to find the right products too.

He doesn't even care that the kids and Robin mock him for it, he has great hair and, screw it, he's proud. He's not going to damage it by getting bad hair dye.

He's already booked his next hairdresser appointment for the next day, already saved up gas money too. He might as well ask for bleach instead, go back to his natural color and save himself from anymore days with overgrown roots.

He almost regrets the idea when he gets to work.

"Holy shit, you're a natural blond?" Robins grin looks almost painful with how wide it is. She's a little too excited for his comfort. "I don't know how I didn't guess before. This explains so much. How have you kept this hidden for so long? It's so light!"

"Don't you have work to do?" He bats her hand away when she, again, reaches for his hair.

"Not anymore. Why do you dye it? How did it grow out so much? When did you start hiding it? Did someone pressure you into it? They didn't make fun of you, did they? Because I will hunt them down and-"

"No one made me dye it or bullied me into it," he huffs. He can feel his attempt at a cool demeaner soften with how quickly she jumps to his defense. "I just... I never liked it. I don't think it suits me. Brunettes are cute."

"Are you dyeing it again?"

"Probably not. The hairdresser I go to isn't exactly cheap."

"You can get box dye at-"

"I'm not using box dye."

"It's not that bad, and if you really hate the blond-"

Steve swats at her when she reaches for his hair again. With a heavy sigh, he braces himself for the shift full of questions and jokes of 'betrayal'.

Like he suspected, they don't get much work done.

When Eddie comes in, towards the end of their shift, Steve is almost relieved.

"Stop bullying him without me," Eddie complains.

"Thank you," Steve says, whilst Robin boos. "What is it tonight? Movie night with Wayne or some of the kids?"

But Eddie is frozen, staring at his hair.

"I think he's broken," Robin says after a pause.

"You're blond?" Eddie blinks. "When did you go blond?"

"Always have been," Steve shrugs. "Just... not dyeing it anymore."

"Oh."

Steve and Robin stare at him. They share a glance after a moment.

"You here for a movie?" Steve asks.

"What? Me? No, I- just stopping by. And you're... yeah. I'm gonna- I've got to go. Wayne is waiting and... you know. Bye."

He turns around and practically runs out the store. His wheels squeal a little as he drives out, most likely breaking the speed limit.

"Did he just..." Robin starts, trailing off with a frown.

"Unbelievable," Steve shakes his head. "Just when I give up, he realizes that he likes me too! What the hell, Bob. Is he only into blonds or something?"

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie fic #ficlet #alittlelaughtime

[seravphs]

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — TEEN DAD! GOJO SATORU x FEM READER

The Zenins want Megumi. Gojo isn’t having it.

wc — 1.7k

tags — one suggestive line after “those girls are better off without you” if you want to avoid it, set after 棠, part of teen dad gojoverse, in which you and Gojo raise Megumi together

Gojo’s been in the doghouse since last night. Not literally, obviously - though he might have preferred it if you were there with him, at least. He’d take anything over being kicked out of your shared bedroom and being forced to sleep on the couch. 

If you had it your way, you’d prolong his punishment, but you can’t. Not when, as he told you last night, the Zenins are coming today to wrest Megumi from your custody. 

Fat chance. 

You’d die before you let that happen. 

Gojo’s not too keen on either of those outcomes. For the first time in his life, he’s taking the pacifist’s route and talking it out, though you’re sure his version of talking involves more insults than most people’s. 

He thought about simply having it out with the elders, but it’s not worth it. Not when he has a plan for the future of Jujutsu Society. Not when he has you, Megumi, and Tsumiki. He’s playing the long game. He can’t afford to screw it up now. 

Being a family man really has ruined him. 

Zenin Keiko is a tall woman with a severe black bob and the characteristic Zenin look of perpetual contempt. She’s Naoya’s cousin, alright. 

“Twice-removed,” Gojo whispers to you. “Or illegitimate. Something like that, I can’t remember.” 

“Shut up,” you whisper back out of the corner of your mouth. “She’s going to hear you.” 

Welcoming a Zenin into your home feels like blasphemy, though you suppose Gojo is the closest thing Jujutsu society has to a god. 

Gojo’s unimpressed by her, mostly because he feels like the Zenins are mocking him. It’s not like anyone can take him on, but to send someone who has no battle capabilities feels like an insult.  

Keiko is an auxiliary manager with no cursed technique to speak of besides a weak barrier. It’s a wonder she has the nerve to speak to Gojo. The Zenins truly did not care about her if they sent her as the proxy to undermine your roles as the Fushiguro children’s guardians. In fact, you suspect that’s the precise reason she was chosen - because she’s expendable. 

Keiko, to her credit, shows no sign of fear. 

“I’d like to meet the children, Mr. Gojo. It’ll give me a good grasp of what the situation is.” 

“Hell no,” Gojo outright laughs in her face. “I’m not letting a Zenin near my brats. Your-“

“Gojo.” You squeeze his knee. Cooperate. 

“I’ll go get them,” he says begrudgingly.

The two of you sandwich the children between you on the couch. Tsumiki sits on Gojo’s left. Megumi sits on your right. That way, the two that are most likely to fight are separated. It’s a strategized united front. 

“Megumi, do you like your guardians? Do you like staying here?” 

Megumi looks at you. You smile at him encouragingly - and there Keiko goes, scribbling away in her notebook. She’s probably saying something about how Megumi is so scared of you he won’t answer the question unless you give him permission. 

“Are you sure? Forgive me, but Gojo seems a little…immature for a parent.” 

A direct attack right out of the gates. Gojo objects to this very accurate assessment of his character. 

“He’s fine, I guess,” Megumi says. There’s more scribbling. You’re starting to hate the sound of pen on paper. “I like-“ 

He looks at you. There’s a tiny blush on his cheeks, just the faintest hint of red. More quietly, he says, “It’s fine, cause she takes care of us.” 

Gojo stares at him, slack-jawed. “Are you kidding me? You are one ungrateful brat. Who found you? Who took you in?” 

Tsumiki chimes in, “We like Gojo a lot too! He’s fun.” 

Keiko ignores her completely, focusing on Megumi instead. Your distaste for her grows. 

“Would you say that Gojo has an active role in taking care of you?” 

“Why aren’t you asking Tsumiki anything?” Megumi interrupts. “Her opinion’s important too.” 

Keiko gives him a strained smile. Gojo reaches behind Tsumiki on the couch to ruffle Megumi’s hair. He only tolerates this for five seconds before he shakes his head to get him off. 

“He loves me,” Gojo says. 

“I have Stockholm syndrome,” Megumi says. ‘Help,’ he mouthes. 

“He’s joking,” Tsumiki says nervously.

You’ve given up on making them behave. It’s just not happening. 

Keiko seems to have given up too. Rather than continue prodding Megumi, she turns to Gojo. 

“How often are you home?”

“Basically every day,” Gojo lies. He does try his best, but it’s more like every other day. Such is the fate of the strongest sorcerer. 

“Don’t want my baby all alone, poor little thing.” 

He catches your look and cackles. “No, the other one. My other baby,” and the kiss he presses to your knuckles is so tender it melts your heart. 

Keiko makes an uncomfortable expression. “Please try to stay focused, Mr. Gojo.” 

Megumi gags loudly. Tsumiki pinches his arm to get him to shut up and he yelps. Keiko narrows her eyes and makes another note. 

“I understand how Gojo might take responsibility for the children,” Keiko says, directing her attention to you, “but how did you come into the picture. Are you a girlfriend-“

“Wife,” Gojo interjects. 

Keiko’s entire body does an approximation of what it would look if a human had a screenshot function. 

“Aren’t you children?”

You don’t like Keiko at all, but you respect the balls it takes to talk to Gojo like that. All the Zenins seem to have that death wish of wanting to mouth off to the strongest. Maybe it’s a genetic thing. 

Gojo shrugs. “If I’m old enough for the missions you send me on, I’m old enough to take care of kids, right? How hard can it be?”

You pinch his thigh. “Gojo.” 

“What? It is easy. You just give them a bunch of lollipops and call it a day.” 

Keiko’s writing is now background noise to you. “Are you still doing that? I told you-“

“It’s fine! All kids need sugar to grow. I had a sweet tooth when I was their age.”

“And that’s probably the reason why you still have one now! Except it’s rotting your teeth-“

“It’s not-“

“It is!”

“Don’t be so uptight!”

“How does it look if I’m always saying no to him and you’re always saying yes? It isn’t fair, Satoru. Parenting has to be a team effort.” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“I’m talking about you playing good cop, bad cop with him!” 

“Have you gone insane? We went over this! He likes you more than me! There is no good cop, bad cop when he just takes your side every single time.” 

“Excuse me,” Keiko says. She’s somehow managed to look a complex combination of perplexed, annoyed, and satisfied. “Please take care of your lovers’ tiffs outside of this interview. I will say that this doesn’t seem like an environment particularly conducive to raising children, however.” 

“What do you know?” Gojo says rudely. “The only reason you’re even doing this interview is because I’m letting you.” 

Normally, you would tell him off, but in front of the Zenins? You’re a united front. You place a hand on his forearm and look down your nose at the woman in front of you as best as you can when she’s taller than most people you meet. 

“I think you’ve overstayed your welcome,” you say. 

“You agreed to an interview,” she says. 

“An interview, not an inquisition.”

“You can’t refuse a request from the elders without consequences,” she says, as patiently as she would speak to a child. It’s condescending. 

“Are you threatening my wife?” 

When you look to your side, Gojo’s face is shadowed. His eyes are storm dark and frightening. Keiko can’t hide her visceral reaction. 

She forgets her coat on her way out, she’s in such a hurry to leave. Gojo takes it and disappears. 

While he’s away, you let Megumi and Tsumiki return to their rooms. They’re muttering amongst themselves, but you don’t pry. Children need their space, too. You’ll talk to them about it later. 

He’s back within a minute. 

“What did you do with it?” You’re bracing yourself for the answer. 

“I just sent a message,” he says, as cheerily as if nothing had happened. “Think we passed that?” 

“Gojo, I think that’s the first test you’ve ever failed. Did you see the way she was writing during the last twenty minutes? And Megumi and Tsumiki! Every time they said something, she made a face!” 

Gojo shrugs, still so certain of his place in the hierarchy. One day, the elders will get tired of him throwing his weight around like Jujutsu’s one and only tyrant, but not someday soon if they want to keep their heads. 

“It’s fine,” he says. “I’m not going to make Megumi and Tsumiki act like repressed little puppet children just so that they can find some way to snipe them out from under us anyways. Who knows, maybe we’ll teach the Zenins a thing or two about healthy child raising. I hear they have two girls now. One of them has no cursed energy. Should we kidnap some more children?” 

“Like you know anything about healthy parenting,” you snark. “Those girls are better off without you.” 

“Does being mean to me get you off or something?” 

“Do you want to find out?” 

“I would love to,” he purrs, sliding a hand under your shirt just so slightly so his nails prick at your lower stomach. You grab his wrist. 

“Sorry,” you say, your stomach churning at the joke gone wrong. “I can’t.”

He stops immediately. “What’s wrong?” 

“I just- They want Megumi badly enough to go to the higher ups. I know what they do to their children. I can’t let him go there, Satoru. I can’t.” 

“I won’t let that happen.”

“I can’t stop thinking about those girls.”

“Come here,” he says. 

You lean closer to him. He lifts his arm so easily, without thinking. When you slide under it, you fit into him perfectly. 

Now that you’re safely tucked under his arm, you feel sheltered from anything that could happen.  “I don’t want to give the kids to the Zenins. They’re monsters. And they would make monsters out of them.” 

“That’s only if they take them away,” Gojo says, his smile fanged and vicious. 

“And if they do?”

“I hope they try.”

You trust him. 

You know he’ll keep his word. If Gojo says Megumi and Tsumiki won’t be going to the Zenins as long as he’s alive, then they won’t be going at all. 

#sera writes #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojou x reader #gojou satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader

[utilitycaster]

Wizard Breakdown Tracker: Echoes of the Solstice

You know it, you love it, it may return on an as-needed basis for Campaign 3 now that Allura has entered the narrative and we know the fate of Caleb, but no promises: it's the Wizard Breakdown Tracker! As a reminder, I now include PCs because I make the rules; wizard NPCs are included on the very scientific basis of "do I have something I think is kind of funny or meaningful to say" so as always, if I left someone off, it was on purpose specifically to annoy you.

Astrid Becke: well her boss is missing, Caleb has expressed concerns in private to Beau about all of the Assembly, apparently the king is bedridden and has been for some time, and I suspect news of unsealed things being unsealed gets to her quickly; even if she isn't aware of the events in Blumenthal yet, she's about to be. Also, it's the apogee solstice. 8/10; ever the opportunist, it is a good time for her to try to become head of the Assembly, but also shit's gone real sideways.

Eadwulf Grieve: lost his title of hottest mage (men's division) to one Fjord Stone during the last Nicodranas County Fair and has been sulking ever since but more importantly the temple of the Raven Queen is doing Not Great Bob as of like an hour ago so a rare Eadwulf stress moment. 7/10.

Planerider Ryn: just lost her arm...but is unaware of it, so that's probably helping. technically cannot be calculated because she is a rock but spiritually like an 8/10 and that's only because she is remarkably unflappable; she just witnessed the Malleus Key and that should drive anyone up to a 10.

Allura Vysoren: has absolutely sensed a disturbance in the force weave and I'm sure Kima's feeling some bad vibes from Bahamut right now, but rather like Ryn she actually has some degree of sangfroid, a concept unheard of in the entire continent of Wildemount. 6/10.

Yussa Errenis: have you ever dealt with like, an ER Nurse, and unless something is actually exploding or someone is actually bleeding out they're like "yeah it be like that sometimes"? After you've been sucked into the Cognouza Hivemind while trying to do your silly little arcane investigations nothing short of the Calamity will ruffle you. He's an elf; he knows this solstice is wonky but also he knows this is Someone Else's Problem. Also Jester's left him alone for a whole 24 hours? Incredible. 2/10 and that's really just because he's still a little cranky about the disappearance of his blast scepter. As always: never change, king.

Prism Grimpoppy: by my calculations she's discovering that she's actually fucking incredible in combat right now. 0/10, she's doing GREAT.

Pumat Sol and sure, fuck it, Oremid Hass: I suspect the Zadash Wizard Contingent is dealing with some wild unsealed shit from the time of the Julous Dominion and they can't get in touch with anyone in the capital, but it's probably manageable. 4/10. On edge but not too bad.

Ludinus Da'leth: oh did your little plan to unleash the god-eater go a touch sideways? were you unprepared for the possibility of fucking all of magic? did you think it was going to be easy? did level 9 "Fuck Up Airship" and level 8 "Shield Against Werewolf" fail to save your bitch ass? As we've seen, he'll scramble and recover, unfortunately, but it's a well-deserved 9/10 right now. I love to see a plan fall apart.

Trent Ikithon: OH this motherfucker has LOST IT in prison. Like...he was able to put together a pretty elaborate situation, to be clear, but also he's gone bugfuck nuts and does not really improve. I think he's already broken down from the start having clearly been planning this exact scenario from the moment of his imprisonment honestly given that he appears to be going off of the frissons he picked up from Caleb and Essek shortly before he was captured, but regardless: he definitely ends it at a 10/10. Stuck in an egg for eternity, if he's even still a separate entity from Omentis. A well-deserved fate if ever there was one. Get fucked lol.

Veth Brenatto: hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha 10/10 you know she watched Luc leap through the teleportation circle as it closed and has been shrieking loud enough to be heard at the Chateau.

Luc Brenatto: the arrogance and naivete of youth insulate him initially, but Aggy's demise probably spikes it to a solid 6 minimum and it's definitely 9 during the battle. It goes back down pretty quickly though; see Caleb's entry.

Caleb Widogast: he keeps it together pretty well, honestly! Still I have to imagine he's kind of at a 7 or so this entire time with occasional spikes to 9 (NEIN) throughout, and I wouldn't fault him for finishing up the Blumenthal Brunch and then quietly locking himself in a soundproof tower room to scream, cry, and throw up for a while. Indeed, I would encourage it; Caleb should go have a good cry and hug a magic cat for a couple hours until he feels better, and then come back down to find that everyone except the clerics but DEFINITELY including Luc has implemented Spontaneous Apogee Solstice Oktoberfest to celebrate the demise of Trent, the engagement of Fjord and Jester, and the general experience of being alive, and is varying degrees of extremely wasted. This will of course bring him back up to like 7 as he realizes he has to return a hungover teenager to Veth and then goes down to a 4 or so when he realizes the clerics can fix that and Veth will probably be so glad that Luc is alive she'll ignore the rest of it.

Essek Thelyss: Our international drow of mystery looms large in the narrative, but does not make an appearance, which makes this premise extremely funny. I assume he's feeling kind of rough given that the Dynasty wizards are well-attuned to leylines and I would imagine he picks up that Sending isn't working and was broadly aware Caleb was going into danger, so he's certainly stressed, but Trent doesn't actually seem to know Where in Exandria is Essek Thelyss and is merely threatening blackmail. Honestly while we're at it, we don't know where Essek is because I wouldn't put it past Mr. Geometer Owner to have been at a solstice nexus and to have possibly experienced his own Solstice Shunting. In fact I assume Essek is blissfully unaware of these specific goings on re: Trent and is just experiencing The Anxiety for all of the previous reasons. (1d6+3)/10.

Known Gem Wizard Hotsauce Lutefisk: Hmmm. Things becoming unsealed, you say? The uninvited guest list (The Real Gelidon, Isharnai) for The TusktoothStone-Lavorre wedding may have gained an extra entry.

#i'm gelidon i'm the real gelidon and all the other gelidons are just shapechanging #critical role #critical role spoilers #wizard breakdown tracker #mighty nein #echoes of the solstice

[horseshoegirl]

Set Me Alight: Part 7 - Paint It, Black

📜Life is messy. And complicated. And writer blocky, with a dash of imposter syndrome... I just want to put that out there... Anyway...

Well, the poll won out. You all want to know what Jake said to Midge. This is solely a flashback chapter. I can't say I'm surprised at who you all disliked in the last chapter, though I hope this one will give you some insight into why Midge has held on to this for as long as she has.

Special thank you to @teacupsandtopgun for helping me to write a certain part of this! You can thank her for the puns! And @sarahsmi13s for taking a peak at it!

❗️+18, Minors DNI, Strong Language, Enemies to Lovers, Original Female Character (s), Short OFC, Bradley Bradshaw x Natasha Trace, flashbacks, Halloween college parties, school, angst, sexual themes (overhearing), drunkness/inxotication. I mentioned angst, right? 💀

#8k <- yes, i know

Part 6 | Masterlist | Part 8

*Halloween Four Years Ago*

Giving orders to a football team to put up Halloween directions was not an easy feat. They were kids in a joke shop, only too happy to take every opportunity to jump-scare each other with a spider, a white sheet or slide out from behind a door and shout boo! 

Despite the antics, you were grateful for the help. Nat and you wouldn’t have finished in time. And even then, you suspected Nat probably would have given up halfway through, merely deciding to throw Yellow Caution Tape on the walls and call it a day. 

You wouldn’t have stopped - even if it became a doomed effort. 

Bradley’s friends weren’t what you expected them to be. True, their appearance fit the bill a thousand times over. Tall, broad shoulders and bulging muscles were all the product of hard work - including Bob, who was smaller than the rest, though not by much.  Even their mannerisms, from how they acted childish and goofy to how they winked or playfully flirted, everything you saw played into the stereotypical type that was the classic college football jock. 

Then you got to know them—really know them—and hated yourself for ever associating them as such. 

You already knew Bradley and had met him on occasion. When he stayed over to be with Nat, he was often up before you, and you’d chat with him over a cup of coffee. He always brought her a cup to wake her up when he could, and it always made you smile. 

His story was a sad one. His father passed away when he was only two years old, leaving his mom to raise him alone. While he couldn’t regale you with his memories of him, he instead offered you the stories attached to his father’s things: a button-up Hawaiian shirt in pale pastels, a pair of coffee-brown Ray Ban sunglasses, and even a worn Milk chocolate leather-strapped bag he used to lug his books around campus. 

Then, his mom passed away in high school, and his father’s best friend took him up until the point decided to leave for school. Bradley chose his words carefully when he spoke of any of them, offering little, and you wondered if the loss was still too much for him to bear. 

Or something else had happened, and he didn’t want anyone to know. 

 But as you helped him blow up a few balloons for the floor, a song from a later decade played through the speakers, and Bradley lit up, producing a smile wider than the nearby Jack-o-lantern. He launched into a story about how much his parents loved music and how his father would play the piano, which alone made him want to learn. 

You asked him if and when he did if he’d play for you one day.

Javy Machado, however, couldn’t be more different from Bradley if he tried.

He was just as meticulous as you when it came to detail. The two of you were discussing the best way to tape Velcro to the kitchen cupboards to stick fluff to the sides and mimic cobwebs when you discovered this fact. He was … quietly smooth and persuasive, with a suave smile that indicated he could charm his way into or out of any situation he wanted without needing to flirt or play it thick. 

“Angle it like this, Maeve,” he had explained, stretching the piece out. “Principle of maximum contact area equals maximum adhesive stretch.” 

You had raised your eyebrows at that remark, which prompted him to chuckle softly. 

"Science major," he shrugged with that smile, making your internal monologue stutter to a halt until you went, "Wait... What?!" 

He only laughed at your reaction, amused in a way like he’d been expecting it. But it was that look of genuine interest in his eyes that made you ask him properly. 

He didn't know what field of science to specialize in, but Javy made all of it sound amazing. From stars to not dirt—it's soil—to understanding how the world worked, he knew he wanted to spend his life trying to figure it all out. If he could throw a ball around and be part of a team with his friends, he considered himself fortunate to do both. 

Even if his passion was so far removed from your own, you may have seen some of yourself in his journey, trying to fit in while doing what you loved most. 

Holding up a string of lights against the wall, Reuben Flitch told you he was floating through school, waiting for the day he could finally be free. On that day, he’d take over his family’s business. Comparing him to the fractured story of your brother and sister following in your parent’s footsteps never seemed to cross your mind. 

Because when you asked what the business was, his face lit up with an enthusiasm you hadn’t expected. 

“My grandparents own vineyards," he had beamed. "They've been in the family for generations. I've grown up with the land, the grapes, and the entire winemaking process." 

He told you stories of growing up, playing through the vines and rows of trellises, making you long for the rows of apple trees at Aunt Viv's. He also talked about spending time with his grandfather, learning the process of pressing grapes and his grandmother tending and picking the grapes. He spoke about the people, everyone from the gardeners to the people who bottled the wine to his siblings, with whom he'd played hide-and-seek within the cellars. 

He told you a business major was worth it, as much as he loathed it, if he could own the place one day.  

You hoped he did. 

But Mickey Garica and Bob Floyd were... characters, to say the least. It was easy to talk with them, even laugh with them, as the three of you spread tiny black spiders all over the apartment. 

Mickey couldn’t stop asking if you could paint him one day, though you imagined it would be fandom-inspired rather than a realistic portrait. The second you asked him about his favourite universe, he launched into a word vomit of praise for each and every one. He spoke of Lord of the Rings, Marvel, Star Wars, Star Trek, and Batman—not DC—as the character deserved to be separated from the rest. 

It made you wonder if the one portrait would be enough. Still, you happily humoured him, saying you needed the practice. 

He was in Health Sciences, hoping it would be enough to get his foot in the door to become a firefighter. He talked about it so passionately, about being capable of making a difference and saving lives, that you honestly couldn’t see him in any other role. 

And given the opportunity, Bob was so full of sass and witty comebacks to the ones you managed to throw his way, you were surprised he was seeking an Anthropology and Archaeology degree. He seemed to have a natural talent for what Comedians had labelled “crowd work.” You honestly would have taken him for a drama major had he not told you differently.

However, once he explained his choice, you understood why. Growing up, having been a Boy Scout, learning about nature, rocks, and life. He wanted to know more about life, history, and how things were. 

A visit to an archeological dig site in high school sold it for him. His eyes lit up when he spoke about ancient civilizations, lost artifacts, and all the mysteries surrounding human evolution. He rattled off facts about Neanderthals and cave paintings, which had you urging him for more. 

He happily obliged and was encouraging when you offered a few that you knew of. 

All of them were so passionate about what they wanted to do with their lives, even Bradley, who wanted to pursue football seriously as a career; you admired all of them for it with your entire heart. 

But Jake Seresin was... you didn’t know. Nor did he, it seemed. 

Jake was there at your side every time you went back up that ladder, claiming someone needed to catch you should you fall again. You had rolled your eyes, a slight smirk gracing your face, but you let him all the same. 

He wasn’t as open as the others, wanting to flirt with you more than anything else. Somehow, you managed to get him talking about football, and when you asked him why he played, he admitted that his father had gone and played at the school. He had been urged to apply, and his family would support him throughout his entire ride. 

“Family money,” he said, his tone light when you gawked at him. You didn’t ask what his parents did, but knowing he came from a rich family, you wondered if he didn't want people to know. You certainly didn't. Nat didn’t know, at least not yet. 

It prompted him to add his parents weren’t pressuring him into one career or another; they simply wanted him to keep up with the sport. So, he was buying time and taking electives, trying to figure it out, though he would have to make a decision soon. 

And it made you wonder, under that confidence, under that layer of charm and ease on his surface, if he was searching for what everyone else in the group had already found. While everyone else didn’t fit the stereotype, you wondered if Jake was attempting to mould himself into it. 

How you wished to tell him, he didn’t have to. 

But Jake wasn’t a painting you could tear apart or theorize about. And as you pinned that last streamer to the ceiling, you realized over the course of the afternoon, you’d unwittingly developed a bit of a crush on him. 

You weren’t stupid. You recognized the signs the second he caught you off that ladder. The second he handed you that shot. He was laying on the charm, the flirty glances, the playful smiles. Even the slight touches on your waist as you leaned back, pining streamers to the ceiling, were waving the red flags in your head. 

Jake was either genuinely interested or actively looking for someone to hook up with tonight. 

It wouldn’t be you, that’s for sure—not even for someone so charming and handsome as Jake Seresin. 

In the last two hours, the guys took turns getting ready first while everyone else finished with the final touches. They wanted you and Natasha to go first, but you vehemently refused, knowing they’d ruin hours of hard work if left unsupervised. 

You also wanted to see this through to the end, but you kept that to yourself. You had revealed enough of your quirky, artsy side to them. You did not need to add to it by gushing over the decorations or how the entire apartment turned out, possibly damaging whatever relationship you'd established so far. 

People were weird when it came to shit like that. 

Jake and Bradley emerged from Nat’s bedroom just as the two of you were headed toward yours. The hallway was already lit in a deep red from the lights now neatly strung up in the corners of the ceiling. Though the sun was beginning to set, shining warm light through your window, you knew the total effect would be entirely eerie when night rolled around. You couldn’t wait to see it.

Bradley was dressed as Indiana Jones: a white shirt, a brown leather jacket, and a fake whip at his side. His outfit was complementary to Nat's Marion Ravenwood, her costume the classic white dress from the first movie you spent a while making. Though she did ask you to take some creative liberties with the design, the dress was more risque than necessary. 

The only thing remotely movie-accurate about it would be the puffy sleeves.

You couldn't help but whistle when Jake stepped out from behind Bradley. Instantly perking up at the noise, he let out a sly smirk and straightened the lapels of his deep black leather jacket. 

"Danny Zuko, huh?" you laughed softly. "Guess you've got the whole 'bad boy' vibe down." 

Jake smirked at you, copying one of the iconic character's signature moves by sliding his hands into his black leather jacket pockets as he strode by. "Only missing my Sandy. You wouldn't happen to know where I could find one, would you?" 

You coyly peered at him over your shoulder as you continued down the hall. Unknown to either of you, Nat and Bradley had stopped to watch the interaction, filled to the brim with curiosity. 

"Wouldn't know. I'm more of a Rizzo myself. Too much sass and not enough patience for leather pants." 

"To get into them or to get out?"

With a glimmer in your eyes and a smirk on your lips, you pivoted to face Jake completely, still walking backwards. “You're quite the smooth talker, aren’t you?” 

Jake shrugged, giving off the vibe of, ‘I can’t help my reputation.’ However, you could see the easy grin on his face, and one side of his mouth crooked upwards, making him appear boyish—just like the character he was dressed up as. 

It made your heart flutter inside your chest. 

“It’s a shame I’m more into the rough-around-the-edges type,” you teased softly, pausing by the corner. 

Liar. Oh, you horrible liar. 

Jake’s grin didn’t disappear when you saw him press his tongue to the inside of his cheek, arching an eyebrow. Instead, it turned into a knowing smirk.

“Is that so?” he teased.

You flushed, at a loss for words. Jake's teasing gaze lingered, and the lift in the corner of his mouth suggested he saw right through your lie. Your cheeks burned hot. 

Jake's chuckle echoed softly down the hallway as you made your escape, somehow making your heart race faster. You didn't dare look back, but you could feel his eyes on you as you turned the corner and down the hallway to your bedroom.

As Jake retreated back into the apartment, Bradley coughed lightly. He exchanged a knowing look with Nat, who had been watching your retreat. He jutted his head once toward you, and Nat replied in kind with a single tilt of her head toward Jake. 

They didn’t need to say aloud what they were thinking. They’d talk about what they discovered later, but it wouldn’t stop them from pressing this interesting development further. 

When she reached your room, Nat found you already in your robe, sitting at your vanity, brushing your hair. You had already laid out your costumes on your bed earlier in the day, and Nat raced to hers the second she saw it, making grabby hands at the fabric. 

"Ahh, it turned out so great, Maeve!" she exclaimed, grabbing the top and holding it up. You glimpsed at her through the reflection of your mirror, smiling when she hugged it to her chest.

“If I had made it any deeper, Nat, you’d be showing off more than just dangly bits.” 

She blew a raspberry at you. You giggled, shaking your head.

“You know, I’ve always wanted to do couples costumes. I never thought Bradley would go for it,” she said after a while, standing next to you and straightening her hair in the mirror of your vanity.

“Really?” you asked, concentrating on not poking your eye out with your mascara. 

“How else am I going to shoo off all the girls practically clamouring to get with Bradley? It’s a nice way to do it, don’t you think?” 

“Maybe. Not every costume as a twin, though,” you said, lowering your hand to gesture to yourself. You hoped Nat would at least acknowledge the effort you’d made or pep you up for a party you'd originally never wanted to hold. 

“What about the Danny wandering around the apartment ‘without his Sandy’?”

You dropped your hand from where you had started fixing up your other eye, glaring at her reflection in your mirror. “Really, Nat?” 

“What, you don’t dream of a little Summer Lovin?” 

You felt your face flush. As if Jake would ever really go for someone like you. “It’s Halloween, Nat.” 

“Exactly. It’s Halloween, and it’s getting colder. Maybe you’ve got chills, and maybe they're multiplying.” 

You groaned, dropping your head and smacking it against your vanity. 

“You’re sure he’s not the one you want?” she bumped you with her hip, grinning.

“Can you stop with the Grease puns? Please,” you squawked. 

Nat laughed, twirling a strand of her hair around her finger as she stepped away. "Okay, okay. But if you change your mind, I think Danny Zuko out there wouldn't mind being 'the one that you want.'"

Fingers wrapping around the handle of your hair brush, you didn’t lift your head from the vanity as you chucked it in Nat’s direction. She laughed hard, and you didn’t need to look to know you had missed her completely. 

Nat eventually cajoled you into helping her slip into her dress, adjusting bits and pieces of fabric here and there. You sat back down at your vanity as she twirled once in the mirror, declaring she was satisfied. Then her eyes went to the door, and her attention shifted to Bradley and what waited beyond it. 

"Are you okay if I go out? Do you need any help?" Nat's voice was laced with excitement, and her eyes gleamed with anticipation of finally having a party as she smoothed down the sides of her dress.  

You shook your head, leaning back in your chair. Nat didn’t meet your gaze. "No, I'm good. I only need to touch up my makeup, and my dress is a slip-on," you smiled. "Go make sure Bradley keeps his hat on." 

Nat wiggled her shoulders, biting her lip to mute her squealing giggle. The puffy sleeves of her short dress waved with her, and she precariously tip-toed out the door on her high heels. Once in the hallway, she dramatically yelled, "Come and get me, Indiana Jones!" 

You stifled a giggle, shaking your head, allowing yourself to turn back to face your mirror.

Staring at yourself, you searched every part of your face, making sure your foundation, blush, eyes, and lips were just how you wanted them to be. You toyed with a strand of curled hair, wondering if what you had done was enough—if all of it had been enough. 

Then your eyes came to rest on your costume, so carefully draped across the end of your bed through the reflection in the mirror. 

You're not sure why "Flaming June" happened to be your favourite painting, though you supposed it had to do with the girl in the painting so casually draped across that seat next to that fountain. She was curled up almost like a serpent, covered in sheer transparent vibrant orange, the painting's only bright pop of colour.

The painting was supposedly meant to depict nymphs, sleeping Greek nymphs for that matter, or even Victorian society's obsession with beauty. However, you argued differently in the paper you wrote for it.

You cared more about the juxtaposition of fire and tranquillity in the piece than about whatever cultural influence or social construct it had at the time. That one girl was at the centre of the painting, wrapped in sheer, see-through colour. She was meant to be the focus; that much was certain. 

Maybe you thought her dress signified the chaos of the world around her, and all she wanted to do was find a moment of peace. 

You’d spent countless hours at the fabric store trying to match the correct shade. Once you had completed parts of Nat's, you spent even countless more at your sewing machine, staying up late to make progress on yours. 

And each time she asked you to make alternations on hers, the more drastic you made it to be ‘just that much sluttier', the more you thought about what you could do to yours. In the end, the thin straps holding up your dress, revealing bare shoulders and the long slit between your breasts, ending just before your belly button, was all you could stomach. 

You held the dress up, contemplating your thoughts. You could do this. You could survive one simple Halloween party - one simple college rager party. 

Right?

———

The second the apartment was starting to flood with arriving guests, Jake realized you hadn’t emerged from your room with Nat.

He had been off to the side near a bookcase, talking with Bradley, hoping to stave off the crowd and the rest of the football team for a little longer. He knew they'd want to talk football and strategies for the season, and Jake simply... didn't. 

He wanted a night off. He wanted to relax and have a good time. And talking about football wouldn't be it. 

Bradley had said something to Jake, but he hadn’t been paying attention. He was too busy searching the gathering pods of people for your face. Why, he didn’t know. But he was eager to find out. 

Bradley snapped his fingers in Jake's face, startling him from his search. "Earth to Jake!" 

Jake shook his head, focusing back on Bradley. "Sorry, what?" 

Bradley raised his eyebrows under the rim of his fedora. "What's going on in that head of yours?" 

Jake regarded him for a few seconds before finally looking down at his drink, bringing it to his lips, admitting, "I'm just looking for Maeve." 

As Jake took a drink, Bradley grinned. "She's probably still getting ready. Nat said her costume was based on her favourite panting." 

Jake didn't even look up from his drink when he asked, "What's her favourite painting?" 

"Why? You looking to make a good impression?" he said, still grinning. 

"Fuck off, Man," Jake snapped, taking another swig to finish his drink. Bradley only laughed, now shaking his head. He would have let Jake simmer in his ask, but this was you. He had to give Jake at least a decent running chance. 

"It's Flaming June, the chick in the orange dress. It's a brilliant costume idea. She made it herself." 

Of course, you would have made it yourself, Jake thought. 

"Surely you came across that painting with your 'rich upbringing.' Nat was practically force-feeding information down our throats a few seconds ago to ensure we recognized her costume. It’s some Freddie Luigui piece. I don't know." 

"I know it," Jake snapped. "I've seen it before." 

Jake was pretty sure he had, maybe once at one of his father's fundraising parties, though he actively searched his mind, trying to remember what it looked like. 

Bradley remained silent, slouching against the bookcase and crossing one leg over the other. He narrowed his eyes at his friend and tilted his head. 

"Why the sudden interest in Maeve? She isn't one for..." Bradley trailed off, searching for the correct word. Just as Jake was about to ask him what he meant, Nat's approaching heels on the hardwood floor stopped them both. 

She stopped at Bradley's side, red solo cup in hand, looping her arm through his. "What are you two handsome boys gossiping about over here?" she giggled at her boyfriend, her chin plopping lazily down onto his bicep. "See any snakes in the crowd, Indy?" 

Bradley pulled his face back into a grimace, reciting the famous line. "Snakes. Why does it always have to be snakes?" 

Jake rolled his eyes at their banter, placing his empty cup on the table between them. Nat giggled, tilting her head back, indicating to Bradley she wanted to be kissed. He complied without protest, leaning down, pressing his lips to hers in an overly dramatic display merely to piss Jake off. 

"Get a room," Jake groaned, mocking a wrenching noise. The couple separated, turning to Jake with amused smirks. "You've heard and seen far worse, dude." 

Jake shuttered, the unwanted memory of walking in on Nat and Bradley from weeks ago flashing through his mind. Sharing an apartment with Bradley had its moments - some good, some decidedly less so. It made him wonder if Maeve had to put up with the same shit he did. 

“Where’s Maeve?” Jake asked Nat, ignoring Bradley's remark. "I haven't seen her yet."

Nat opened her mouth, about to tell him you were still getting ready, when she caught sight of a flash of orange stepping out from behind the corner of the hallway. You came into view, your head angled down, mindful of stepping on your dress as thin streams of transparent fabric trailed behind you at your sides. 

Javy let out a low-toned whistle from somewhere in the room, and heads turned, one by one, as you took your final step into the apartment. 

“Damn girl, you clean up nice!” 

Lifting your head, you were surprised to see eyes on you. Javy glided forward to greet you from where he had been standing at a nearby table, and you smiled at him, though a little weary. Deep down, you knew his comment was meant to be a compliment. But something coarse, like sandpaper, rubbed against your heart at the remark, lingering longer than you would have liked. 

“What? Not bad for a fine arts major?” you joked somewhat deprecatively, though your voice held none of it. 

Javy held out his hand, and you grabbed it, allowing him to lift it above your head. With a pump of his wrist, he urged you to spin under his arm several times, letting your dress fan out. You giggled as he urged you, though you wobbled on your heels. The dreaded things were Nat's only contribution to your outfit, and you were severely regretting it. 

He let you go, thinking you had your footing on the last, slowed spin. But when you came to a stop, you were on the verge of falling over, your head dizzy, and your legs unbalanced. 

To his credit, Javy tried to reach out and steady you, already regretting the step he took back. However, before he could, another pair of hands, one on your hip and one taking your hand, steadied you. 

Jake’s hands were firm on your skin, pulling you close as you lost your balance. You fell into his chest, head tilted back, half falling over. And looking up at his face, seeing the amused grin on his lip, you drew in a sharp breath at the sight. 

"Letting me make a good first impression?" he quipped.

“By catching falling women?” you laughed breathlessly, bringing your free hand to his chest. If you had let your hand stall slightly longer than necessary, you would have never admitted to it.

“Seems noble enough,” he replied, helping you to stand. Though he might have let go of your hand, he didn’t let go of your waist. “Or do you make it a habit to test the reflexes of every guy you meet?”

You couldn’t resist the playful jab. “Only the ones who seem like they can handle it. And the pretty ones.”

Jake's grin widened, and he even risked sneaking a quick peek at your lips, letting them rest there for a few seconds before his eyes roamed the rest of your body.

"Flaming June, right? Frederic Leighton's Masterpiece."

You blinked in surprise, letting out a small gasp. You honestly expected to tell people what your costume was, not just some girl in some random orange dress. Jake's knowledge of the painting, let alone his identification of it so quickly, was scoring him some major brownie points. 

"You know your art," you commented nonchalantly.

He shrugged, "I might know a thing or two. I always had a thing for the classics. By the way, it suits you." 

You practically preened under his gaze. "Thank you," you said, a shy smile creeping onto your face. He beamed at you in return. 

Yes, you might have a crush on him. But for the first time that day, you figured it wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

—- 

This was a bad idea - Oh, this party was such a bad idea.

Believing you were having a good time and actually having a good time were two separate things. You certainly felt one of those things. As the night went on, and with each drink you tipped back, alcoholic or not, regret built in your stomach. 

You weren’t sure what you were expecting. Maybe you were seeking reasons where there initially were none, allowing Natasha’s suggestions to slowly chip away at your resolve until you finally gave in. Maybe it was the promise of letting loose, to embrace the spirit of Halloween with all its creative potential.  

Maybe it was the promise of making new friends. Of getting to know people outside the art department. Natasha had told you to mingle. She wanted you to mingle, and yet... you didn’t know where to start. 

You didn't expect Nat or Bradley to coddle you, but they could have introduced you to a few people besides the core group before things had gotten this bad. You didn't dare approach Javy or Rueben, who played beer pong and chugged beers back like it was nobody's business. They were off doing their own thing, and you didn’t want to intrude. 

 Mickey and Bob had gone home earlier in the night. Bob proclaimed he had a midterm to study for, and Mickey wanted to go home anyway so he could call his family in peace. You strongly suspected he wanted to watch Halloween movies instead.

Rocky Horror sounded like a wonderful idea right about now. 

You couldn’t hang around Nat and Bradley all night, either. And nobody from your art classes would even dare set foot inside a party where nearly half of its guests were from the sororities.

You knew that. While you did extend the invitation, you told them you wouldn't blame them if they didn't come. They had looked at you with such disregard you wondered if they were seeing you through newly polished rose-coloured glasses. And standing up against the wall next to your bookcase, like an insipid wallflower, you could hardly blame them for it either. 

You couldn’t introduce yourself in a place where you were the outsider, even within the walls of your own home. Soon after the first few attempts, that realization settled deep into your chest. And you couldn’t help but feel like you had done this to yourself -  an attempt to be part of something like this, even if just for a night.

But Jake… Jake was still here. At least, he should be. He had been by your side for the beginning of the evening, talking to you about what projects you were currently working on over another drink—not whiskey—after you had started to hiccup while putting up decorations. 

After he recognized your dress, you weren’t ashamed to tell him. You had launched into the ideas and thoughts behind two paintings and one sculpture, an old table that you were trying to turn into an elemental-type sundial. You told him about the zodiac signs you had already burned into the wood after sanding it down and how each was placed in its own little section as it related to its element. 

You had reached halfway through your thought process when you realized how lost you were in your explanation. You froze mid-sentence, blushing harder than the colour of your dress. 

"Sorry," you had said. "I ramble when I get excited about my art.” 

But Jake’s interest hadn’t waned. If anything, it urged him to ask, “How did you find something you're so passionate about? Creating things... making art?"

His question had made you pause, though not over what to say but merely how to say it. “It was my voice when words fell short or my escape when the world grew too loud.” 

You caught a glimpse of something in Jake’s eyes—a flash of longing, a momentary crack in his confident demeanour. What followed was a slight nod. It was there, and then it wasn’t, as if he’d accidentally revealed more of himself than he wanted. Then he caught himself, suddenly straightened his spine, and continued the conversation as if that brief lapse in judgment never happened in the first place. 

Ten minutes later, he excused himself to get another drink. And you hadn’t seen him since. 

You scanned the room for him, hoping to spot that black leather jacket among the sea of people. But it was impossible. Under the dim, eerie glow of the lights, each costume blurred into the next, and the crowd swallowed any hope of finding him.

Reaching for whatever mixed drink Nat had made you earlier off the table, you pushed yourself off the wall, weaving through the throngs of people, figuring you might as well try to see if she knew where he had run off to. 

Liquid sloshed over the rim of your cup onto your hand as you dodged a zombie here, a fairy there, and music pulsing like a heartbeat through the packed room. Laughter and snippets of conversations swirled around you as you scanned the sea of faces, both masked and not for Nat. 

Glasses clinked, a witch cackled, and the scent of spiced pumpkin mingled somewhere in the mix with the tang of alcohol and body sweat. By the time you spotted her leaning heavily against the kitchen Island, red cup in hand and her laughter too loud, eyes slightly unfocused, you knew the night had taken its toll on her sobriety. 

She was too preoccupied with telling a bunch of people a story to notice how you quickly launched the contents of your cup into the sink behind her. You extended your arm when you were close enough, looping your arm around her waist. Her arm came up at the same time, sliding across your back to pull you close. 

Nat tilted her head back onto her shoulders, glancing at you with happy eyes. "Maeve!" she whined tipsily. 

Given how far gone she was, you were surprised at how accurately she pronounced your name. She bent slightly, still holding her red Solo cup in her hand, to hug you tight, her face smooshing into your neck.

“It looks like you’re having the time of your life,” you snorted. She nodded against your skin, biting her lip in a smile with a happy, drunken snigger. She lazily pulled back to meet your eye, and you smiled at her. 

“Have you seen Jake around?” 

Nat paused, her gaze flickering around the room as if she'd genuinely forgotten about him, though she didn’t lift her head off your body. "Jake? Oh, I haven't seen him in a bit,” she slurred slightly. “Why? Do you two likeeeeeeeeeeeeeee each other? Is Jake going to make you scream grease lightin’?” 

You reached for her red Solo cup and pried it from her hand. “Okay, yup, you're cut off.” 

“Nooo,” she pouted her arm a dead weight as she tried to take it back. Her hand hit the bottom of the cup, and liquid shot up, once again covering your hand in whatever type of alcohol Nat managed to mix together. You could only sigh. 

“Here comes the fun police,” she muttered under her breath. “I thought you’d be off doing your own thing.” 

Well, that fucking stung just a tiny bit. 

“I’m not going to be the one who cleans up your vomit tomorrow morning, Nat.” 

“I’ve only had,” she held up her hand, widening her thumb and pointer finger probably further apart than she thought, “this much to drink.” 

“Ahm...”  

Luckily for you, Bradley appeared, having seen what was going on. He looked amused yet concerned as he slid between the gap of the island and Nat to observe his girlfriend babbling nonsense on your shoulder. “What’s happening here?”

Nat made another grab for her cup, but Bradley gently intercepted her, taking her hand into his before she could even grasp it. 

“That,” you offered. 

 “I think it’s time we get you to bed, love,” he suggested, wrapping an arm around her waist. You let him take her, happy for him to bear her weight. 

Nat leaned into him, mumbling something incoherent, a mix of protest and agreement. Bradley spared a glance at you, silently thanking you in your unspoken agreement. You nodded, watching as he sandwiched her to his side and carried her off towards her room. 

It always seemed like one of you was always taking care of her. At one point or another. 

After getting rid of Nat’s cup, you felt the sticky residue of both of your spilled drinks on your skin and felt the urge to run to the privacy of the bathroom to wash it off. Stumbling down the hallway, blusters on your feet finally making themselves known, you let your hands casually slide along the wall. The music from the party faded into a muffled, dull noise as you walked. 

You wanted to smile at the lights. The red eerie glow along the top corners of the ceiling only reached not even halfway down the wall, plunging the floor into a dark abyss. You clumsily stuttered through it, unable to see anything below your waist.

It was exactly as you pictured it, and yet you couldn't bring yourself to manage the slightest grin. 

The bathroom door was down at the end of the hall slightly ajar, with the red LED light illuminating its edges from behind. You zoned in on it like a wobbly arrow to a target, tired and completely done with tonight and everything about it.

You reached for the curved handle, about to push the door open, when a high-pitched giggle came from behind the piece of wood. You shot your hand back like you had been burned, and with a quick turn of your heel, you plastered your back up against the wall. 

You immediately knew what was happening behind that door, and it made you throw up in your mouth just a little. 

Ugh, I’m going to have to disinfect the hell out of that bathroom tomorrow. 

The next voice you heard, however, made your heart drop into your stomach. 

“You like that, don’t ya, sweetheart?”

You didn't want to believe it, but you had to see for yourself. Leaning forward off the wall, you peered through the crack in the door, only to spot a black leather jacket taking up most of your view—the same black jacket you had complimented Jake on earlier that day. It was a stark contrast to the red glowing light above him, and something snapped in your heart and recoiled back as one slender bare leg in beige fishnet stockings wrapped around his. 

There was an overly drunken and seductive 'ahm,' forcing you to glance over his shoulder at the girl he was with—her costume was a bejewelled Taylor Swift outfit to match her long blonde hair. 

You swallowed your bile and adverted your gaze, pressing yourself back up against that wall, out of sight and hidden completely from view. 

You knew this was a possibility; Jake was merely looking for a hookup and nothing more. You had considered it all afternoon. Yet, you couldn’t help but feel utterly hurt at the sight. 

"I mean, Nat's pretty clever befriending that girl.. what was her name, Maeve?" the girl snickered. 

"I know. It sounds like something out of those weird fantasy books everyone loves." A whimper from his companion followed Jake's breathy and muffled laugh.

At the dig, your hand went to your chest, your heart thudding painfully under your palm. The realization they had been talking about you, about Nat, made tears flood your eyes. 

You didn't understand it. Or maybe you did, and you were too blinded by the possibility of someone like him, someone like Nat, Bradley, Bob, Mickey, and Rueben, to beat the fucking pyramid scheme and care about someone like you. 

What other explanation was there except the fact you had been blinded by those who proved to be the exception? Blinded by the fucking elementary school crush cause he had flirted, smiled, joked, and maybe even showed some half-decent interest in you. Clearly, the second he figured out you weren’t going to hook up with him, he sought his sights on someone else. 

Jake wasn’t trying to mould into the stereotype. He was the fucking stereotype.

"Even her costume," she sneered. "Like, who the fuck dresses up like that for a college rager Halloween party? You're supposed to dress up slutty."

You couldn't speak, staring down the front of your dress to what you had thought had been a risky enough slit. You couldn't even breathe. 

"You kidding me?" he laughed lowly. "Bradley was practically screaming at us what she dressed up as. I'd have no fucking clue what she was otherwise. I'd guess some random Greek Godness obsessed with that awful shade of orange."

Your hand slid up from your chest, around your throat to feel your harsh, rough swallow. Only it didn’t stop there, suddenly finding yourself wrapping it around your entire mouth, stifling any noise wanting to escape. Through shaky inhales in and out of your nose, you fought hard to stop yourself from crying over this. 

Over him. Over a fucking jock who would say anything to hook up with a girl. Only to get his dick wet. 

But you couldn't prevent the tears from welling up in your eyes, or from one finally spilling over, dropping down your cheek only to stall there, or how the hand covering your mouth curled up around your cheekbone, only to stroke away the tear. 

You refused to look back at the door through the crack, so you fixed your gaze on the darkness consuming the ground. And as you lowered your hand, you caught the ugly black smear marring your skin.

 How could you not? Standing in the glow of that red hallway light, it was the only thing you could see.

The artistic irony hits you like a freight train. Here you were, dressed as the girl in your favourite painting. Her dress had been the only bright shade of colour in the entire painting, and you, standing in the top half glow of bright red LED lights, had failed to notice what had been staring you in the face all along.

Orange was muted by red, and black bled through all. The only thing about you that stood out the entire evening was this tiny black mark scarring the back of your hand—black tears from smeared mascara.

"I would have guessed an orange," the girl snickered, quickly followed by a mewl. "Though she practically blended into the wall, I couldn't see her with the lights." 

Lips plucking on skin echoed off the title and out the door, and Jake drew in a ragged breath as he agreed. "She did blend right into the fucking wall, didn’t she?"

Your eyes burned. The girl giggled. 

“How long do you think this one will stay? She seems… different, to say the least.” 

Jake sniggered. “Seriously, you think Natasha Trace is hanging around that girl out of the goodness of her heart?” 

His laugh was so full of malice that it was nothing like the ones you had heard pleasantly filling your ears earlier. 

“Everyone knows after what Nat did, she needs an image clean up. Playing the saint, befriending the weird loner art girl, giving her the best friend badge?” 

“If she thinks she’s got a place in the big leagues, she’s in for a rude awakening,” the girl murmured. “Pathetic. People like her don’t belong with people like us.” 

There was a pause. “It’s just like Natasha, though. She always needs an audience, something to validate her feelings. It’s brillant really.” 

Jake's agreement was a silent blow, his next words the dagger. "Nat's smart. She knows how to play the game. Maeve's just...convenient."

Convenience. The word echoed in your mind, bouncing off the walls of your already crumbling self-worth.

“Give it a year. Trace is going to drop her the second the next new shiny person comes along. And everyone is going to forget about the little art girl she used up and discarded. Or she’ll become the most hated girl on campus.” 

Without your back up against the wall, his words might have made you crumble into that dark abyss. 

“Can we stop talking about her now?” the girl whined. “I thought you promised to get me off.” 

Jake chuckled lowly, the sound morphing into a low, predatory growl. “You brought her up, sweetheart. But don’t worry—I’m all yours now.” 

You pushed yourself away from that wall, stumbling down the dark hallway to your bedroom out of instinct, refusing to subject yourself to any further torture. But just before your door, you fell into the wall, your shoulder throbbing as you slouched against it. 

The world around you swirled, leaving you consumed by one thought—and one thought alone.

That. Fucking. Asshole! How dare he! How fucking dare he!

To hear Natasha be demeaned, your friendship demeaned and used as a stepping stone in pursuit of a meaningless hookup... anger boiled under your skin. You didn’t care what he or what they had said about you, but Nat? 

If Jake thought he’d succeed in sweet-talking you, to play you like a puppet on a string, just as he assumed Nat had been doing, he had another thing coming. If he was going to talk shit about your friendship with her, you’d show him just how spineless you could be. 

Oh, he’d wish he’d never caught you off that fucking ladder. Wished he had never met you and flirted with you, obviously a ploy to find someone to hook up with. You gagged at ever having a crush on him in the first place. 

But as you leaned against the wall, trying to steady your swirling thoughts, doubt wormed its way into your mind.

What if he was right? 

What if your friendship with Nat was just a convenience, a way for her to maintain her status or recover from her sorority fallout? You knew nothing of it, nothing more than what she told you. There could be more to the story, things she hadn’t revealed, things nobody else had either.

 No, you shook your head, trying to dismiss the thought. Nat had been there for you in ways no one else had. 

Jake was just an asshole. Plain and simple. 

But then another thought sucker punched you in the gut. 

You couldn’t tell anyone else what he said. You wouldn’t be responsible for causing that type of drama within a friend circle, one that long before you ever showed up. They never would have believed you anyway, and Nat… she worked so hard to get out, escape the rumours and gossip, to put it behind her. She didn’t need to know about this.

You had no choice but to carry this burden alone. It was a lonely decision, but perhaps loneliness was a small price to pay for the semblance of harmony among friends—or so you tried to convince yourself.

But Jake. You could no longer give a rat’s ass about Jake. If he wanted to attack Nat, then fine. You hit him right back. That much you could still do. 

Whatever had possessed Frederic Leighton to name the piece you currently embodied, “Flaming June,” whatever possessed him to gift that girl with fire in her name, that fire was suddenly born in you. 

A flame that sparked and kerosened your soul to burn, hot and bright. It was a wildfire that rushed under layers of skin and ignited every nerve, ending with a ferocity you never knew you possessed. It was born to protect what you had found - Nat, Bradley, Bob, Mickey, Javy and Rueben. And that fucking asshole would never be allowed to put you down, Nat down, like your family did, ever again. 

Pushing yourself off the wall, you stepped into your bedroom. Slamming the door, the lock clicked hard into place. 

It never opened the rest of the night.

NOW YOU KNOW....

Tag List:

@desert-fern @startrekfangirl2233 @sarahsmi13s @kmc1989 @fanficfandomlove @hookslove1592 @dakotakazansky

@teacupsandtopgun @lynnevanss @dizzybee03 @keyrani

@shanimallina87 @wildxwidow @dempy @stargazer-88 @alldaysdreamer @the-dark-and-mystery @bookchik15

@atarmychick007 @trickphotography2 @tinytotontheoversizedpony @buckysteveloki-me @wretchedmo

@redbarn1995 @a-court-of-roscoe-and-baby @yuckosworld @wren5650 @mrsevans90 @bellaireland1981 @tgmreader

@halibshepherd @essie1876 @formulafun @memoriesat30 @vicsnook @memoriesat30 @eclecticfashionbookszipper @boisewaffles @eloquentdreamer @jessicab1991

And for those who've been following along:

@i-wanna-be-your-muse @djs8891 @gigisimsonmars @blue-aconite @wildlyfreemoon @eli2447 @rascallyrascalreads @djs8891

#horseshoegirlwrites #jake seresin fanfiction #hangman x oc #hangman fanfiction #jake seresin #jake hangman seresin x reader #set me alight #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman fic #jake hangman seresin imagine #jake hangman x you #jake seresin fic #jake hangman x reader #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin x oc #jake seresin x y/n #jake seresin x you #hangman seresin #hangman seresin x reader #hangman x reader #hangman top gun #jake hangman imagine #top gun hangman #hangman x you #top gun au #top gun fan fiction #top gun fanfic #top gun fanfiction #top gun fic

[ladamedusoif]

Starry Night (Joel Miller x Stargazer f!reader)

A Merry Fic-Mas - December 1

Part of A Merry Fic-Mas: A Holiday Fic Calendar - click for masterlist.

Pairing: Jackson!Joel Miller x Stargazer F!Reader

Rating: Teen

Word count: ~1500

Warnings: Strong language (Ellie is involved); canon doesn’t go here; alcohol references; fluff; almost certainly some stargazing errors please forgive me

Summary: There are a lot of wonderful things about making it to the safety of Jackson, but the darkness of the night sky makes it a perfect home for a stargazer like you - and you’re only too happy to share your knowledge with a space-mad teenager. Oh, and her grumpy dad.

Every time you set up your telescope, you remembered the look Maria had given you the day you returned from a scavenging mission with it strapped to your back, still in its packaging.

“Seriously?”

You shrugged as you got off your horse. “Seriously. Got plenty of other stuff too, so let me have this, please?”

She looked dubious, but threw up her arms in resignation. “If we need it for lookout - it’s ours, okay?”

You nodded, hugging the telescope close to your chest, and raced home to set it up. 

Space was your dad’s thing, and he’d made it yours, too. Nights in the backyard with his very basic kit trained on the skies, stargazing maps in front of you, climbing on his lap to look through the viewfinder.

He taught you the major constellations, how to find planets visible in the night sky, explained how stars helped people navigate, long ago. 

Little did you know then how that information would come in handy years later, finding your way to the safety of the Jackson settlement with nothing else to guide you. 

Stargazing in the suburbs wasn’t ideal. Too much light pollution. In Jackson, though? Wide, open dark skies, far as the eye could see. 

Every time you watched the night sky, you looked out for your dad.

Cold, crisp, clear winter nights were your favourite time for stargazing. Bundled up in your warmest coat, hat, and blankets, you sat on your porch, telescope in front of you and an old Atlas of the Night Sky on your lap. Out of the corner of your eye, you became conscious of two people walking along the sidewalk past your home. Recent arrivals, you guessed, seeing as they weren’t familiar; a young girl, an older man. Father and daughter, probably.

“Whoa, dude. She’s got a fuckin’ real telescope!”

The girl had stopped to stare at you, eyes wide in astonishment. You offered a shy smile and a little wave, and were about to speak when the man interjected, beckoning the girl on with a frustrated tilt of his head.

“Mind your manners, Ellie. Sorry, ma’am. Didn’t mean to disturb you. You have a good night.” He nods and you return the gesture, touched by his somewhat old-fashioned manners, and they walk on as you go back to seeking out Castor and Pollux.

Over the next couple of weeks, you learned that the man was Tommy’s older brother, Joel. His exact relationship to Ellie, the teenage girl, was not clear: she wasn’t his biological daughter, you suspected but Tommy tended to refer to her as “Joel’s kid”.

They tended to keep to themselves, for the most part. But she would peek in your direction if she spotted you at social events in the community, as if she was weighing up whether she should go and talk to you. No amount of friendly waves and smiles from you could ever convince her, it seemed.

You took matters into your own hands at the holiday tree lighting ceremony. You picked them out easily: Joel, big and broad in a sheepskin-lined winter coat, greying hair curling over the collar; Ellie, ponytail bobbing from side to side as she looked at the illuminated tree in absolute awe and wonder. 

“Joel and Ellie, right?” 

They turned to appraise you, still wary of new people. You held out the mugs of eggnog you’d grabbed for them on your way across the room. 

“Thought you might like some eggnog, and I wanted to introduce myself. I’m the telescope lady.”

Ellie’s eyes widened. “So cool,” she murmured, as if to herself.

Joel nodded and accepted the eggnog gratefully, the mug suddenly appearing doll-sized in his large hands. “Ellie’s got a thing for space, don’t you? Loves hearing about the space programs, the astronauts, all that.”

The teenager looked down at her shoes and blushed a little as she nodded. Apocalypse or not, teenage girls will always be embarrassed by their dads. 

Ellie took a sip of her eggnog. “How’d you get a fuckin’ telescope, anyway?” 

Joel scolded her, but you chuckled. “I found it in an old hobby store on a scavenging mission one time. I wasn’t gonna leave that behind, now was I?” She grinned at your conspiratorial wink, and Joel seemed to relax a little.

“Come over whenever you want, and I’ll give you a guided tour of the sky. We’ve got perfect conditions here for it.”

She beamed and turned to Joel, who shook his head softly. “We don’t want to be disturbing you, ma’am.” You corrected him with your name, and he repeated it, low and slow, in that warm, dark voice of his.

“I mean it, Joel. You are both very welcome to do some stargazing with me, whenever you’d like.”

“No fuckin’ WAY!”

Ellie tears into the kitchen on the morning of December 21, excitedly brandishing a piece of paper under Joel’s nose as he sips - or tries to sip - his morning coffee.

“Whatever it is, El, it’s far too early for this kind of excitement.”

“Look at it, dude!”

He rolls his eyes, puts down his mug, and looks at the piece of paper. It’s a handwritten invitation, decorated with drawings of celestial bodies and, at the bottom, a bright red telescope. He can’t help but chuckle as he reads the words aloud.

“Ellie (and Joel) are invited to a special winter solstice stargazing party tonight, December 21, at 6pm. Wrap up warm and be ready to see stars.” Underneath, you’ve carefully written your name and address in neat print.

By now, Ellie is positively bouncing with excitement. “The fuckin’ telescope! I’m gonna look through a fuckin’ telescope! At fuckin' SPACE!”

Joel’s heart swells as he takes in her sheer joy at the prospect of looking up into the heavens, knowing how hard everything has been for her, how much he has wanted to make her smile again. 

“Alright, but there’ll be no telescope if you don’t eat and get dressed for school. Go on, now.”

The telescope is already set up on your porch when they arrive later that evening, Joel carrying a flask of hot coffee and Ellie a tin with a few cookies - the best they could rustle up at short notice. 

“I’m so glad you came!” You beam at them as you open your front door, beckoning them inside. “I’ve got some snacks ready, and some hot punch.”

A smile creeps over Joel’s face as he realises you’re somehow playing a compilation of holiday music. Brenda Lee is singing about rocking around the Christmas tree, Ellie is nodding her head in time to the song as she makes a beeline for the bowls of snacks you’d set out, and he is struck by just how long it’s been since he’s experienced anything akin to “holiday cheer”.

“What the fuck does ‘rockin’ around a Christmas tree’ mean, anyways?”

Joel tuts and rolls his eyes. “Ellie. Language.”

You giggle as you hand Ellie a cup of non-alcoholic hot punch. “It’s fine, Joel. I think she means people are dancing around a Christmas tree, Ellie.”

Ellie looks sceptical. “Fuckin’ weird. Hey, when can we look at the stars?”

Joel lets you take the lead, as Jackson’s resident stargazer. He sits on one of your kitchen chairs, sipping from a mug of punch, watching you show Ellie how to navigate the night sky. 

The punch is warming in more ways than one. As Ellie bounded out to the porch earlier, you’d subtly held up a bottle of liquor at him and raised your eyebrows in a silent question, before adding a little to your and his mugs of punch once he’d nodded his assent. 

“See that really bright, orangey one there? That’s Betelgeuse. It’s a red supergiant.”

Ellie’s mouth hangs open as she squints through the telescope’s eyepiece. “Red supergiant,” she repeats. 

“See if you can find Orion’s Belt for yourself. It’s not too far away.”

You turn to Joel, checked blanket wrapped around your shoulders, and raise your mug towards him with a warm smile. “Happy holidays, Joel.”

He reciprocates the gesture, dark, warm eyes crinkling as a gentle, genuine smile spreads across his face. It might be the first time you’ve ever really seen him smile.

He looks to the heavens, taking in the perfect, pitch-dark blue-black carpet of a night sky embroidered with millions of twinkling stars. For an instant, he finds comfort in remembering that we all - everyone who is, who has ever been, and who will ever be - gaze up at the same firmament. 

General fic taglist: @agentjackdaniels, @julesonrecord , @tessa-quayle, @vermillionwinter , @iamskyereads , @tieronecrush , @perennialdoll247 , @love-the-abyss , @imaswellkid , @intheorangebedroom , @fuckyeahdindjarin , @littlemisspascal , @khindahra , @pedrostories , @readingiskeepingmegoing , @rhoorl , @red-red-rogue , @princessanglophile , @katareyoudrilling @survivingandenduring , @trulybetty @fictionismyreality @sunnywithachanceofjavi , @joeldjarin , @lahoozaherr, @s-u-t, @its-nebuleuse, @veryprairieberry (let me know if you'd rather not be tagged!)

#a merry fic-mas #holiday fic calendar #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller imagine #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller jackson #the last of us fanfiction #tlou hbo #the last of us #ellie williams #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedrostories #pedro pascal

[shadowthief78]

Lyney/Reader

Genshin spoilers under the cut, for 4.0 Fontaine Archon quests.

Containes unexpected kissing and the barest slightest tiniest slight yandere Lyney, might not be canon compliant bc I got stuck halfway through trying to do quest stuff and came to write this instead.

I thought I was in a bit of a dry spell but it turns out I just needed some catboy coded manipulation to get back in the swing of things. I think all three of them would be subtly manipulative like this and I love it. Hopefully I can write more of them soon :D

This came out a lot cuter than I pictured. I don't really think Lyney would be an overtly violent or threatening lover.

The first time Lyney kisses you is right after Crowell dies. Your eyes widen, still focused on Lynette's, while her brother presses his mouth against yours in a kiss decidedly not appropriate for someone the prime suspect in a murder trial. The basket of food you brough knocks awkwardly against your knees, tilting you forward at an uncomfortable angle.

The supervising garde coughs. Lyney releases you. You steady yourself against him.

"I brought you food. Freminet was worried you would get hungry," you say, uncovering the dishes. Lyney's little brother had practically thrown bowls at you while you struggled to fasten your cloak. "Some might be a little wet. It's pouring out there."

"Thank you," Lynette says, taking the basket. "I'm going to the dressing rooma to share."

"Sorry it's mostly leftovers," you say, watching her bow bob as she leaves.

Her exit leaves you and Lyney in the half-light of backstage, the spotlights casting eerie shadows on the props. The garde moves a few steps away.

Lyney seems to realize how stiffly you're holding yourself. "Sorry," he says, releasing your elbow. "Overwhelmed, I guess. Crowell..."

You knew Crowell—were the one to reccommend him for the job, in fact. You glance at the curtain covering everything.

"Freminet's worried about you. Says there's too many visitors for him to handle."

Lyney sighs. "Poor Freminet. He didn't have anything to do with this. I feel terrible about it all, I'm not there to support him..." He catches sight of you again and gasps. "Oh, archons, what am I doing? You're soaked through and through. I was so busy worrying about this I completely forgot my manners. I'll find you a change of clothes somewhere."

Someone in the dressing room offers you a blanket and a cup of hot chocolate. Lyney continues hovering at your side, fussing. "I don't deserve you," he says, once his troupe has largely wandered off to rest. It's closer to dawn than sunset and you've mostly dried off. He sits at the edge of the pile of cushions you're propped up on, fiddling with his shoelace.

"I haven't done anything," you mutter, eyelids itching to close.

"That's not true," he says. "You keep the house in order, take care of Freminet, patch up all our costumes, organize the troupe, bring us food..." He trails off looking at you. "The kiss."

You look away. "Overwhelmed?"

He makes a frustrated noise. "Yes, but- Ah," he sighs, collapsing backwards closer to you. "I really did mean it. I just... probably should have waited for a better time. I hoped, after today's show, that, you know..." He dissolves into groans again. "Freminet adores you and so does Lynette. After this is all over, do you think maybe we could perhaps, ah, continue that?"

You see his face pressed to the cushions, rough fabric against his smooth cheek. He looks at you softly, like a dream, poised like a cat about to pounce.

Him. Lynette. Freminet. They all want to catch you somehow.

#puffin says stuff #lyney #genshin impact #x reader #fanfiction #lyney x reader

[silassinclair]

Michael's Girl PT. 2 \\ PolyLostBoys + Michael x Reader

Summary: You tell The Lost Boys you know their and Michael's secret and that you too wish to be turned.

Previous Part <- 🖤 -> Next Part

The cave smelled of smoke, old furniture, weed, and a stale oceanic scent. Michael held your hand as the two of you walked down the steps. The other four boys were ahead of you two. Marko was hollering as Paul and Dwayne grabbed some lit torches to light up the other torches. The flames burnt bright and cast an orange glow on the walls.

"What is this place?" You ask Michael. Before he answers though David suddenly appears by your side. His arm snakes around your shoulder like a serpent. Your boyfriend, clearly upset by this, pulls you away from the vampire.

"This used to be a hotel. But unfortunately it was built on a fault and collapsed decades ago. But fortunately for us, it's now ours." His voice was smooth as silk. The way he would talk was mesmerizing and could pull in any listener.

You wondered how many lives he's taken.

Your face immediately sours at the thought. But then again, you were going to be one of them. Soon you too would be a killer, so who were you to judge?

The boys all sat down by the fountain where Michael leads you to sit also. You and him sit on the ledge and he leans down to whisper in your ear.

"Now that they're all in once place you should probably tell them what you know and want."

Michael can tell you're nervous. By the way your right leg bobs up and down where you're seated and the sweat coming from the hand he's holding.

"There's nothing to be afraid of baby, I'm here to protect you okay?" He coos and kisses your cheek tenderly. Your boyfriend has always been there for you. Back in Arizona you vividly remember all the times he would defend you from bullies or other guys trying to get with you.

"What are you two whispering about? You know there are no secrets Michael." David cuts you from your train of thought. His black gloved hand pointing up shakes his finger back and forth in a 'nu uh uh' motion.

"It's nothing really." You say and look at David. "But I have something to tell you. All of you."

David shares a look with his boys, then Michael, then looks at you again. The music from Paul's boombox stops playing and now all eyes are on you.

"What is there to tell us? Ya just met us?" Marko says and looks to David.

Their leader goes to sit in his wheel chair and lights a cigarette. His piercing eyes shift to Michael.

"You didn't tell her anything... did you Michael? I mean if you did then."

David looks to you.

"What did your little boyfriend tell you?" All jokes were gone. He was nothing but serious.

The air around you was thick with tension. Michael's grip on your hand tightened. Your nervous gaze shifted away from David. Out of all the four he was the most intimidating. And most dangerous.

You wanted to get this all over with. It felt like your lungs were being crushed and that you couldn't speak.

"I-I know..." You say, a crack in your voice. David leans forward in his wheel chair, gloved hands gripping the armrests. His head tilts to the side like a curious animal ready to pounce on it's prey.

That's who you were right now. In a cave with four vampires suspecting you of knowing their secret. And you did know, and they would most definitely kill you if you didn't choose your words right.

"What exactly do you know little thing? Come on, don't be shy now." David leers, "Spit. it. out."

"I know you're all vampires!"

Silence. The sound of flickering fire and only your breathing. Your heartbeat can be heard clear as day by all five men in the room. Because day by day, hour by hour, your lovely Michael is closer to being exactly like them.

"How silly. You know vampires aren't real. Isn't that right Michael?" David turns to face your boyfriend. But Michael looks stoic and straight-faced.

"No David, I know. Michael proved it to me by transforming his face. But I'm not telling you I know your secret because I'm angry at you for turning Michael."

You pause and wait for David or any of the other vampires to say anything.

"Go on." David says with a movement of his hand.

"I want to be turned too."

David's eyes widen while the other boys turn to each other and start talking.

"Dude is she for real?"

"There's no fucking way!"

"Finally a we'll have a chick in our pack!"

"You're all idiots, we should hear what else she has to say."

"Stop being a buzzkill Dwayne."

With the snap of David's fingers the cave goes silent once again. He stands from his wheel chair and walks tauntingly towards you and Michael. Michael, about to stand up and defend you, doesn't when you look at him with pleading eyes.

David looks down at you with a smirk. The glow of the torches cast a haunting shadow onto his face. "So you want to be a vampire?" He says with drawl.

"Yes I do." You say with no waver in your voice.

"You do know what will happen to you right? You'll be a creature of the night. Sleep all day, party all night, never grow old, never die. Of course that sounds fun for a girl like you. And it is fun."

He paces back and forth. His eyes never leave yours. It feels like a test almost, he looks over your expression to see if you're up to his challenge.

"But can a girl like you handle eating human beings? Never being able to go out in the sun or never see what you look like ever again. Could you really do that? Would you sacrifice your humanity because your naïve little boyfriend walked into the lion's den and got bit?" His steps paused. David stood directly in front of you leaning down so his face was level to yours.

Without breathing you muster up the courage to reply, "I already know the sacrifices, and I'm willing to make them if it means eternity with the one I love."

Whistles and applause sound from the sidelines. The other two blondes are clapping and cheering as the brunette claps slow with a small smile on his face. A wide grin breaks out on David's face. His fangs are visible and you have the urge to reach out and touch them.

"I like you! Michael," He turns to Michael, "Your little girlfriend here has some fire. And I like that. I like that a lot. She's better than you even."

"Hey!"

"Oh don't pout Mike I still love you." David caresses your boyfriend's chin.

"Hey get off me man! Fuck you." Michael says and slaps his hand away. His arm goes around your waist and pulls you in close. He whispers into your ear again,

"You did good baby. I'm so proud of you."

A nervous smile cracks onto your face. You did it, you told them you knew the truth and they didn't eat you! But what now? What will the turning process be like? Will you drink from the same wine bottle... no, blood bottle that Michael drank from?

"So what do I have to do to... be like one of you?" You say curiously. Paul walks up to you and ruffles your hair as Marko leans his chin on your shoulder. Dwayne sits next to you and David squats in front of you. For the first time he wasn't leering above you, rather he was beneath you.

"Such an eager little human aren't you?" Marko coos into your ear. A shiver runs down your spine and goosebumps form on the back of your neck.

"Don't do that please.." You mutter and side eye the mischievous blonde. He smirks in response as he plays with your hair.

David brings your attention back to him by putting both his hands on each of your knees. Blush coats your face but you try to ignore the flutter in your stomach and shift your attention to Michael instead.

"We're not going to turn you just yet darling. We're gonna have to see if you're up to it. I don't want you complaining when I've already turned you now right?" David says. Understanding where he's coming from you nod.

"Alright." You say, "I'm ready for anything you throw at me."

"Excellent. You may not be turned yet but you are one of us now! Tonight we celebrate! Cheers to Y/n and cheers to Michael!" David stands and riles up the boys who cheer in response. Michael smiles and kisses you cheek.

"You don't have to be afraid, I'll be right with you the whole way." Michael says and stands up with you holding your hands.

"I know. It's not that I'm afraid, just nervous I guess. But that's only natural right?"

Paul turns the boombox back on and music starts blasting from it. The soundwaves echo from the walls and Michael pulls you in close for a dance. Laughing, you dance with him to the music.

"I can't wait to spend forever with you Y/n. You know, you make this whole vampire thing worth it."

#the lost boys #the lost boys x reader #poly!lost boys x reader #poly lost boys x reader #david the lost boys #paul the lost boys #dwayne the lost boys #marko the lost boys #michael emerson x reader #michael emerson

[karahalloway]

(Less Than) Noble Intentions: Chapter 16 - Snakes in the Garden

Fandom: TRR

Pairing: Drake Walker x F!OC (Harper Gale)

Series Summary: The social season may be over, but Harper Gale’s problems are just beginning. With everyone at court a potential suspect, can she and Drake survive the engagement tour and get to the bottom of the plot against her and clear her name? An AU take of TRR2 featuring my OTP - Harper & Drake.

Masterlist: (Less Than) Noble Intentions

Chapter Summary: Harper greets the world as the new Duchess of Valtoria, but that is not the only newsworthy item that rocks the Apple Harvest Festival...

Word Count: 7,300

Rating/Warnings: M (swearing, angst, possible ulterior motives)

Chapter theme song:

A/N1: Things are slowly coming to a head! Thanks for bearing with me on this series - I know I have a lot of other projects in the works, so I have not been updating as much as I probably should. But, we are finally getting to the exciting parts (as if what's happened until now hasn't been exciting 🤣) as after this chapter, we are into the meat of the engagement tour, and all the juicy plot changes that I have been wanting to write for over a year will finally come to a fore! *evil laugh*

A/N2: If you have not heard of TURN - the TV show from which I borrowed the chapter theme song - then, I can highly recommend it (especially if you like historical dramas, US history (specifically the Revolutionary War period), or just really good story-telling)!

A/N3: This is also much submission for @choicesjanuary2024 Day 12: Smiles / Secret

Chapter 16 - Snakes in the Garden

"Are you sure I look okay?" I ask, nervously pulling at the high-necked strip of emerald lace that circles my throat.

"Stop fiddling!" Bertrand berates, slapping my hand away. "We are running late as it, and we cannot afford to lose any more time to last minute touch-ups!"

"Yeah, but—"

"You look great, Harper," Maxwell assures me with a beaming smile. "Marcie did a great job."

The petite make-up artist that the Beaumonts had procured out of thin air bobs a curtsy to my right. "It was my pleasure, Your Grace."

Her words hit me like a whiplash.

Your Grace.

My new form of address. One I'm not sure I'm ever going to get used to. Lady Harper had been one thing, but that had always felt like a curtesy. A temporary formality that had been extended to me by virtue of my sponsorship by the Beaumonts during the social season.

But there is nothing temporary about my current situation. The weight of the ring on my hand — and its implications — bears down heavily on my finger... and my thoughts. Especially since I still haven't found a moment alone with Drake to finish our conversation from this morning... or bring him up to speed on my new status.

Because no sooner had my ennoblement been sealed with the very expensive — and very potent — champagne, than the Beaumonts had shown back up (somewhat mercifully) to crash Christian's surprise party.

And from there it had been a whirlwind of hair, makeup and outfitting for the all-important Apple Harvest Festival where I am due to make my grand debut as the new Duchess of Valtoria.

A position of some importance — Bertrand has stressed, multiple times — given that in addition to the impressive estate that I am now the official caretaker of, I also have a seat on the infamous Council, as well as a seat on the even more exclusive Privy Council. Not to mention my own fleet of staff, vehicles, bank accounts, and carefully curated online profiles.

Which is why — on top of everything — the ever-industrious press corps have worked at record speed to throw the fruits of yesterday's labours together into an exclusive, twelve-page spread as part of a special edition of Trend magazine, which dropped this morning.

And while I haven't actually had a chance to read through the copy that currently sits on the coffee table of my room (together with every other major national and international news publication), Maxwell has assured me that the social media reactions have — so far — been positive. The snaps of my stress-fuelled efforts at yesterday's apple pick have apparently helped.

Which means that Jonathan's PR gamble is starting to pay dividends, and I now have a public image to maintain. Not just for myself, but for Cordonia as well. Because when I step outside today, I'll be representing everything that the kingdom under Christian's burgeoning rule is striving to be — beauty, modernity, opportunity.

Definitely not the best day to wake up with a litany of awkwardly situated bruises!

Thankfully, both Maxwell and Bertrand seem to have had a chance to pull themselves together after this morning's surprising (and definitely explosive!) turn of events, and — after the initial shock — have set about covering for mine and Drake's mess with the same coordinated precision that they employed to pull the Beaumont Bash out of their butts.

With the result that they somehow managed to transform me from the black and blue disaster I woke up as, into the picture of a polished and refined lady.

I glance apprehensively out at the bright sunshine blanketing the hills. Hopefully, the carefully applied window-dressing survives the literal trial by fire it's about to be subjected to. Because just like yesterday, the temperature is set to climb into the mid-90's today as well, which means I'll most likely end up sweating buckets again, thanks to the Edwardian nature of my dress's neckline.

And what I definitely don't need today is for all the blush and cover-up getting smudged away so that everyone at the event can start speculating about the intimate placement of my of hickeys!

I close my eyes wearily. God, I can't wait for all this to be over...

"No catnaps!" snaps Bertrand, slapping a wide-brimmed hat onto my head. "The people are waiting on us!"

I barely have time to grab my matching clutch before the Beaumonts are whisking me out of my room and down the length of the corridor towards the manor's lawn.

"Surely the Festival can start without us...!" I gasp as I stumble after Bertrand in my heels.

"No, it cannot," he reprimands. "All members of the Council must be present for the ceremonial tree planting."

I frown. "Tree planting? Isn't that a little... agrarian for the aristos?"

"It is a time-honoured tradition!" corrects Bertrand. "Cordonia owes its existence and livelihood to the noble Ruby, so it is the duty of the Council to ensure that the fruits of our bounty are secured for future generations! Hence, the requirement to plant new saplings at the end of each harvest!"

"If you say so..." I concede as we pass through the back doors of the manor.

Based on what I saw at the apple pick, Bertrand's pronouncement seems optimistic at best, given that none of the aristos even bothered to lift a finger to a tree yesterday.

But, looks can always be deceiving, so maybe today is the day that the I am pleasantly surprised for once.

A deafening cheer erupts as the Beaumonts and I step out onto the manor's steps.

Snapping my head towards the source of the commotion, I see what appears to be thousands of people crammed behind velvet-lined cordons, screaming and jostling for position like they're in the front row of a Taylor Swift concert...

...and it takes me a second to realise that it's my name that they're shouting.

"Duchess!"

"Lady Harper, we love you!"

"You're the true Apple Queen, no matter what anyone says!"

"Wow..." I blink, taken aback by the fervency of the crowd's reaction. "I didn't realise I had such a rabid following..."

"Best wave to them," suggests Maxwell, leaning in as he raises his arm into the air with a wide smile.

"Okay..." I concede hesitantly, turning to the crowd to do the same.

The last time I experienced anything remotely like this had been on the red carpet at the Derby — my first public outing as a suitor. But even the bright flash of the cameras and the intrusive questions that the reporters had flung at me paled in comparison to the reaction I am receiving today.

Phones and cameras are thrust into the air as the Beaumonts and I descend the manor's stairs to the accompaniment of the increasingly frenzied cheers and shouts of encouragement. Even a few bouquets of flowers fly through the air, narrowly missing my hat.

And I can't help but smile in the face of the genuine outpouring of support from the crowd. Because it sure as heck feels good to be on top for once!

However, arriving at the edge of the orchard where the tree planting ceremony is due to take place, I am greeted by a very different type of welcome.

Snooty expressions drip down the ends of aristocratic noses as the members of the Council pass silent judgment on my somewhat bombastic entrance.

"They're just jealous," Maxwell whispers to me as we take up our spots at the edge of the gathering.

"Yeah..." I agree with a stilted voice. "That's what I'm worried about."

I know firsthand of the lengths that these people are willing to go to in order to exact vengeance for perceived slights. And I did not particularly feel like painting a target on my back a second time while I am still trying to recover from the hurt caused by the first.

Maybe this is a mistake...

But I don't have time to think on it long, because the public erupts into an even more deafening outburst as Christian appears with Madeleine on his arm.

"Look at her..." snips a voice from behind me. "Acting like she's Queen already."

I whip around in disbelief. "Olivia!"

The Duchess of Lythikos cuts her green eyes over at me with a derisive look. "Oh, don't look so surprised, Harper. Just because you are now a duchess, does not mean that the rest of us have taken early retirement."

"Trust me," I grumble under my breath, "this was not the plan."

"Opportunities multiply as they are seized," she replies sagely.

I quirk a brow at her. "Meaning?"

"Meaning," she expounds surly, "opportunity breeds opportunity. And only by exploiting every advantage will you uncover previously hidden gains. Do they not teach The Art of War inyour schools?"

"No..."

She scoffs under her breath. "Explains a lot."

I roll my eyes at her as Christian and Madeleine pause on the steps for photos and a couple of quick sound bites. "I guess this means your sabbatical was productive?"

"Exceedingly."

I heave a breath. "At least one of us is making progress..."

"Oh, don't sell yourself short," she counters out of the corner of her mouth. "Your recent advancements have served as a welcome distraction..."

"Not sure if that’s a compliment, or not..." I admit sourly.

"You have more power than you realise," she insists quietly. "Make sure you use it."

"Wow..." I mutter, glancing over at her in genuine surprise. "Friendly advice from the Scarlet Duchess? What else have you learnt during your time away?"

"Our interests are temporarily aligned, nothing more," she replies, shooting daggers across the lawn towards Madeleine. "And I'll fill you in shortly."

"Well, it's good to have you back, regardless," I say with a dip of my head. "Your Grace."

Olivia shoots me a sidelong look. "Don't get sentimental on me, Duchess."

But I can see the hint of a smile pulling at her lips.

Christian and Madeleine arrive at the edge of the trees. Stepping up to the row of waiting saplings, Christian pulls a stack of notecards out of his pocket and delivers a short speech to the click of the cameras.

As the mandatory applause dies down, he slots the pieces of paper carefully away... and pulls off his jacket.

"What are you doing?" hisses Madeleine as the crowd descends into a hubbub of excited reactions.

"Taking a leaf out of the Duchess of Valtoria's book," he replies, handing his jacket off to the closest shocked Councillor as he sets about rolling up his sleeves.

"Out of—!" Madeleine bristles in indignation, while trying to maintain an outwardly calm composure. "The only thing you have taken is leave of your senses! Now get back here and—!"

Ignoring his fiancée's outburst, Christian grabs the ribbon-bedecked shovel out of the hands of the footman that was holding it, and steps up to a clear patch of grass. Adjusting his grip on the handle, he digs the metal blade decisively into the ground to the accompanying slew of clicking camera shutters.

"Shall we?" asks Olivia with a sly smirk as she pushes her way to the front of the line of gawping nobles.

"Let's," I agree, instantly catching onto her plan.

"Lady Harper!" hisses Bertrand from behind me. "What do you think you're—?"

"Lending a hand to the King," I throw back over my shoulder as I step to the front of the row of aristos who are looking mutely onto the sight of their monarch working up an actual sweat before them.

Grabbing another shovel from the pile in the corner — these ones obviously having seen some honest work already, judging by the dirt encrusted on their faces — I join the King of Cordonia in enlarging the hole in the ground.

Because regardless of Christian's underlying motives for ennobling me, and whatever his broader game may be, what he is doing right now is bigger than me, bigger than him, bigger than any of us. And that deserves recognition. Especially when he is taking such active — and public — strides towards being the change he wants to see unfurl during his rule. Where the ruling class doesn't just offer empty platitudes and hollow ceremony, but actually practices what it preaches. So, what better way to do that, than by planting the seeds of change in front of thousands of people in the literal heart of the kingdom?

Christian rewards my arrival with a nod and a smile as I take up position next to him.

Hefting my shovel, I slice it into the earth that he's already uncovered, using the somewhat flimsy sole of my heeled sandals to drive it deeper.

Scooping the blade back out, I suddenly feel a presence to my left. Looking up, I see that Maxwell has also joined our impromptu work crew.

Throwing me a wink, he drops his shovel in next to mine.

With the three of us working on tandem, it takes us almost no time at all to dig out a hole large enough to house the new apple tree.

Wiping the sweat from my forehead — the weatherman had not lied, that's for sure! — I see that Olivia, with some assistance from Hana, has already prepared the sapling by shunting it closer to the hole and removing the burlap covering from its roots.

Laying down our shovels, we help her manoeuvre the tree to the edge of the dint. Cheers and applause rise up from the onlookers as the sapling thuds into the earth. Olivia uses one of the knives from her hidden arsenal to slice off the twines holding the branches together, and the tree unfurls itself with a satisfied snap.

"Your Majesty!" shouts a reporter, who I recognise as Frederick Capone. "One for the Cordonian Times, if you please!"

"And for the CBS!" adds Donald Brine, muscling his way to the front.

"Certainly," accedes Christian graciously, holding his arm out. "It was a group effort, after all."

We all gather in — sweaty and dirty, but smiling — as the press corps immortalises the scene...

...and I innocuously sweep my hair over my shoulder in a vain effort to try and hide any bruises that may have become uncovered as a result of the unplanned exertion.

"Thank you for joining me in my moment of impulsivity," Christian acknowledges softly as the bulbs flash.

"Please," scoffs Olivia out of the side of her mouth. "It was coordinated from the start."

"The people don't seem to mind," counters Hana with a demure smile as she faces the cameras.

"With the exception of about half-dozen," I note, glancing back at the disgruntled looks of the Councillors from behind us, as they try to save face by applauding our efforts together with the rest of the crowd.

"They'll fall in line." Christian assures me as he lifts his hand with a wave.

I feel a prick between my shoulder blades. Turning my head, I catch sight of the cold fire radiating out of Madeleine's gaze from behind the mask of her perfect smile.

"Maybe not everyone..." I mutter under my breath as I turn back towards the paps.

I'm already on Madeleine's shit list for daring to return to court after my very public humiliation and banishment. On the night of her engagement tour launch party, no less! So, the fact that I ended up upstaging her — again — probably means that I've sunk even further down the ladder of her estimations.

To what end, I have no idea. But I'm going to have to start being more careful from here on out.

Once the press are finally placated, we disperse across the lawn in search of some much-needed refreshments.

"Harper!"

I swallow a groan as I'm brought up short, mere steps from the freshly squeezed, rosemary-infused lemonade that I desperately need after toiling away in this heat. "What now, Bertrand...?"

"I... uhm..." He clears his throat as I turn to face him. "I wanted to apologise for my earlier outburst. It was unseemly... and in retrospect, short-sighted."

"What do you mean?" I ask with a frown. Bertrand very rarely — if ever! — apologised.

"The public reaction to the tree planting has been overwhelming," he clarifies, pulling his phone out.

My eyes bulge as I take in the view count on the screen. "A hundred thousand views already!"

"And counting," Bertrand adds. "And that is only one website."

"And look at the comments!" I exclaim, scrolling through the feed. "They're loving Maxwell as well!"

"Yes, it appears that my brother has a keener instinct for media relations than I do..."

"You should tell him that," I say. "It would mean the world to him."

Bertrand looks momentarily taken aback. "I... Well..." He clears his throat again. "Yes. Maybe I will. He deserves some recognition for his efforts in diverting — at least temporarily — the negative attention away from our financial predicaments."

"A simple hug and a 'thank-you' will do," I tell him with a knowing look.

Bertrand reels back in abject horror. "I will not subject my brother to such a sordid display of affection! Especially in public!"

I heave a sigh. "And there's your problem, right th—"

I trail off as I spot a familiar figure signalling to me from over Bertrand's shoulders.

"Excuse me," I say, palming Bertrand's phone back to him as I move towards one of the marquees that had been set up at the edge of the lawn.

Slipping inside the flap of the tent, I come face-to-face with Ana de Luca.

"Your Grace," she nods, dipping into a curtesy, something she hasn't deigned to do before. "Thank you for making the time."

"Ana," I nod in return, wondering why the influential editor of Trend chose to pull me away for a private meeting. Especially after I cornered her so forcefully at Madeleine's garden party a few days ago.

"I suppose congratulations are in order," she continues, straightening back up. "Since returning to court you have managed to elevate yourself not just in rank, but in the eyes of the public as well. Rolling your sleeves up in tandem with the King was a masterful piece of image enhancement."

"I didn't do it for myself," I reply evenly.

"Of course," she nods quickly. "We must all step in line with our new King. But your reputation is certainly reaping the benefits as well."

"As is your bottom line," I point out.

"Your initiative is markedly boosting sales of this month's special edition, as well as traffic to our website," she concedes. "For which Trend is very grateful. But that is not the reason I pulled you aside."

"What is it then?"

"I found out the name of the photographer," she replies, reaching into her handbag.

I feel my heart jump in my chest. "You're joking..."

She raises a brow at me from behind the lenses of her black-out Versace shades as she pulls a small flash-drive out. "I can assure you that I am not."

I quickly pull myself back together. "No. Of course not..."

Handing the drive over, she adds. "On there you will find all the pertinent information I was able to obtain through my own means."

"Thank you," I say sincerely, taking the piece of plastic from her. "I honestly was not expecting this..."

She shrugs an elegant shoulder. "I said I would look into it, so I did. It is not much, but I am sure you have people who can hopefully take it further."

"I do," I affirm, slotting the device into my clutch.

"After all," she adds with a knowing quirk to her lips. "You are not the only one with a vested interest in seeing your name cleared, Your Grace."

With another quick bob, she exits the marquee.

I let out a low exhale as the tent flap drops back into place in her wake. "Thank God..."

Some much-needed progress at last!

Hopefully, Drake can take the information from the drive and do a deep dive into the photographer to see if they ever crossed paths with whoever it is that has it in for me.

Which reminds me...

Opening my clutch up again, I pull my phone out and type up a quick message to my elusive boyfriend.

I haven't seen or heard from him since the event started. And now I have two pieces of critical information I need to share with him. So, rather than chasing after him like some damsel in distress, I'm going to make him come to me for a change. Because time is of the essence, and I don't want to wait.

Hitting send, I exit the tent and head back towards the orchard. I figure that since everyone is on the lawn, the secluded garden hidden amongst the trees will give me and Drake the best chance to meet in private, away from the prying eyes of the court and the press.

Slipping between the tree trunks, I try to make my way as casually as possible through the orchard, as if I am simply out for a walk, in order to ward off potential suspicion. But, as I drift further away from the Festival, I start to pick up the pace, mindful of the short timeframe I gave Drake... as well as the exposed roots on the ground.

Because as much as I might want to hurry, I definitely don't want — or need — a twisted ankle the day before we're due to start the international leg of the trip. As Mom was right — I should take advantage of the upcoming whirlwind tour of Europe to at least try and get some sightseeing in. As who knows when I'll get the chance to do this again...

...especially if I'm forced to become a hermit because we fail to expose the mastermind behind the press scandal.

I shake my head. No. I need to stay positive. It's the only way I'm going to get through—

"Competing with a herd of elephants, Gale?"

I snap my gaze up at the sound of Drake's voice... and nearly trip over a hidden apple lodged in the grass.

"You try sneaking ‘round in four-inch heels," I grumble back at him, while using the trunk of a nearby tree to steady myself.

He mutters something under his breath as he steps over to me with an outstretched hand. "Here."

Grabbing his hand, I navigate gingerly away from the tree, only to find that the slightly rotten fruit has become impaled on the end of my stiletto.

"Great..." I groan, trying to flick the stupid thing off... But it stays stubbornly stuck.

"You're a walking disaster, y'know that, right?" drawls Drake as he drops down in front of me.

"Ha-ha, funny," I snark back at him while trying to balance on one foot on the uneven ground.

He meets my eye with a wry look as he finally manages to pull the offending fruit off with a squelch. "You're only gripin' 'cause it's true."

"Yeah, well, not all of us have... reflexes... like Neo..." I reply sardonically as I save myself from tipping over by grabbing onto Drake's shoulder.

He stifles a scoff as he tosses the apple into the trees. "You good?"

"Yeah," I confirm, righting myself again and letting go of his shirt.

Drake regards me critically for a long moment — as if expecting me to keel over again at the drop of a hat — before pushing himself up.

"Thanks," I say, laying an appreciative hand on his arm.

The humour fades from his gaze at the contact.

"Drake..." I start...

...but he's already pulled away.

"What did you want to talk about?" he asks, not quite meeting my eyes as he slots his hands into his pockets, the momentary lightness of our previous interaction gone.

I heave a breath.

We really need to talk about what happened this morning. But his suddenly standoffish demeanour makes it clear that he's not quite ready for that yet.

So, I decide to start with something less contentious.

"We have a lead on the photographer," I tell him, reaching into my clutch.

His head perks up with interest. "That was fast."

"Teamwork makes the dream work," I agree with a smile, pulling the flash drive back out and holding it out to him.

His posture suddenly stiffens. "The hell is that?"

I glance around me uncertainly. "What?"

"The fucking ring on your finger," he declares dispassionately, his accusatory gaze scorching into my outstretched hand.

My heart drops. Oh, no...

This is not how I wanted to break it to him. But unfortunately for both of us, the cat has now ripped itself out of the proverbial bag, so I'm just going to have to scamper after it.

Taking a steadying inhale, I look him square in the eye. "It's my new signet ring." I turn my hand over to show it to him.

His face darkens. "Fils de pute de—" he grits under his breath, snapping a hand out to grab my wrist.

My eyes widen. "Drake, what are y—?"

A storm is raging in his espresso gaze. "Signet rings go on the little finger. On the right hand."

"Oh," is all I can manage as he swipes the golden band off my left ring finger.

"You didn't know, did you?" he asks softly, reaching for my other hand... more gently this time.

I shake my head with a constricted throat. "No, I—"

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

My head jerks ‘round at the sound of the unexpected voice. "Christian!"

"I see you couldn't resist a somewhat impulsive stroll through the orchards, either?" he asks, more rhetorically than anything else. "The scent of apples is truly luscious this time of year."

"Erm... yes...!" I manage to squeak out, shoving my right hand behind my back. "Smells like apple juice!"

Christian's brow quivers ever so slightly at my slightly random — and obviously unexpected — comparison.

But I'm too busy coordinating with Drake to get the signet ring shoved back onto my hand while trying to palm the flash drive off to him without dropping either in the process. As both outcomes would lead to some very awkward conversations!

I feel the warmth of the metal slide onto the index finger of my hand (Drake had probably ascertained that the circumference of the band was too large for my pinky), and I'm finally able to breathe a sigh of relief.

Embarrassing backpedaling, narrowly averted!

Drake uses the opportunity to extract the flash drive from my hand as well, dropping the device casually into his pocket as he moves beside me. "She ain't wrong."

"No," concedes Christian, eying the two of us for a second longer than strictly comfortable. "She rarely is."

"So, umm... Are you hiding from the paps as well?" I ask in a bid to diffuse the growing tension in the air.

"No, I came looking for you, actually," he corrects, taking a step forward. "I saw you slip into the orchard, and thought it prudent to follow you."

"Oh?" I say, feeling my stomach tighten again. "Worried I might get lost?"

"I was hoping to catch you alone," he corrects, coming to a stop in front of me.

I swallow tightly as I see him glance over at Drake.

Please don't fight... Please don't fight...

Christian's gaze reverts to me. "But I suppose it is convenient for Drake to happen to be here as well."

My heart skips an uncomfortable beat. "It is?"

"Yes," he affirms. "I have received some news that you'll both be interested in hearing."

"Well, don't keep us in damn suspense, then..." mutters Drake with a noticeable edge to his voice.

I try to reach discretely out to brush my fingers against his, to reassure him that come what may, we'll get through it together, that—

"We found Tariq."

Christian's words hit me like a kick to the chest. The breath explodes out of me so forcefully that I am actually forced to take a step back in a bid to maintain my balance as the apple trees descend into a spin around me.

No way...

"Where?"

Drake's voice floats across the edge of my awareness. And even in my spaced-out state, I can feel the weight of the cold, calculated fury infused into that single word.

No corner... No mercy.

"Dubai," replies Christian, who also sounds like he's miles away. "He—"

But Drake's already spun away. "Send me the coordinates."

"Harper?"

I blink up at Christian in a daze. "Huh?"

"Are you alright?" he asks, laying a concerned hand on my cheek. "You... You looked as if you were about to faint..."

"I..." I swallow past the sudden dryness in my throat. "I'm okay."

"Are you certain?" he presses, peering down at me. "I could ring for a doctor, and—"

"No," I insist, pulling away from him. "I'm fine. I... I guess I just got caught off-guard..."

"It is an unexpected development, certainly," he concedes. "But hopefully still a welcome one?"

"Yes!" I blurt out. "Of course! I want to clear my name more than anyone, and Tariq is key to that! I just..." My voice trails uncertainly off.

Christian flashes me a knowing half-smile. "Feel some trepidation about the prospect...?"

"I guess so," I concede, my fingers moving unconsciously to the horseshoe charm at my wrist.

Because as much as I may want Tariq to pay for what he did from a rational point of view, from an emotional standpoint, I’m terrified.

As even though I know in the back of my mind that a lot of my trepidation has to do with the fact that I am still trying to recover from the psychological trauma that Tariq inflicted on me, a major part of me is also scared of what setting the record straight would entail in practice.

Christian had mentioned that there were 'methods of persuasion' that could be used to force a confession from Tariq. But then what? Would I be made to very publicly relive the entire horrible episode in the form of TV spots and interviews, or would we be able to get by with one official press release? And given my spotty history with the press, will people actually believe my side of the story...?

I mean, Meghan and Harry didn’t exactly fare well in the court of public opinion when they tried to counter the official royal narrative...

On top of all that, in light of my very visceral reactions to returning to Applewood, I have no idea how I'm going to react to seeing Tariq in person again. Would I burst into tears? Have a nervous breakdown? Dissolve into a panic attack? Stab him in the gut and then the nuts?

And (possibly worst of all) what if we discover that Tariq had been acting alone? And his attack on me — while traumatising — is in no way connected to the larger, and definitely more dangerous plot to remove me from the running for Queen? What then...?

"Your qualms are not as misplaced as you may initially think," Christian consoles. "It is a daunting prospect to face the person who actively sought to harm you."

Something in his tone catches my attention. "What do you mean?"

Christian heaves a sigh. "I do not know if you are aware of this, but several years ago, I was the target of an assassination attempt."

I nod tightly. "Yes. Drake told me."

"Then I presume he also told you how deeply the experience affected me," he says, catching my eye with an uncharacteristically guarded look.

"Yes," I affirm, thinking back to the conversation in Olivia's wine cellar that felt like years ago.

"What he probably didn't tell you, however," he continues, "is that I visited the perpetrator in prison."

My jaw drops. "You what!"

"Not publicly and certainly not in any official capacity." He shakes his head wryly. "I did not even talk to the man."

"Then why...?"

"I... I was having trouble reconciling with what had happened," he explains. "And moving past it. The trauma councillor that I was working with suggested that it was perhaps because I was subconsciously endowing the gunman with too much power, and thereby transmuting the man into something more akin to an evil monster."

A shiver runs down my spine at Christian's words. It's like he's talking about Tariq...

"So, to help break the negative emotional associations I had built up, my councillor arranged a clandestine meeting where I would have the opportunity to face the man."

"How... How did that go?" I ask nervously.

"I was terrified, of course," Christian admits. "I had no idea what to expect and each scenario I imagined in my head was worse than the last. But, when I finally got into room where the meeting was to take place, I was surprised by what I saw. As rather than some hulking, shadowy fiend, it was a pale, somewhat diminutive man sat across from me."

"So… what did you do?"

"We simply sat at a table and stared at each other," he recounts. "He with more than a bit of contemptuous malice, I have to admit, but in that moment, I realised that he was a flesh-and-blood person who had fallen prey to the same misguided emotions as I — anger, fear, resentment — just manifested differently. And that helped set me onto the path of true healing. As ultimately, I was able to forgive him."

"Forgive him?" I gasp disbelievingly. "For trying to murder you?"

"Nobody acts in isolation," Christian advises calmly. "Even the most unconscionable horrors perpetrated by the villains of humanity — torture, mass murder, genocide — sprout from the basis of an emotional or psychological motivator such as love, fear, greed, jealousy... to name but a few. So, while we may disagree with and condemn the action retrospectively from the safety of the moral high-ground, it is very possible that had we found ourselves in a similar situation, we would end up being just as guilty as the person we are looking to condemn."

"So, what?" I demand testily. "I should feel sorry for Tariq for what he did to me?"

"Showing empathy and compassion towards our counterparts does not mean forgetting or excusing the harm suffered," counsels Christian. "But it will certainly allow you to start on the path of true healing."

I shake my head as I turn away. "I'm not sure Tariq deserves that..."

"It is by no means an easy assignment," he admits, laying a hand on my shoulder. "But even if you cannot find it in your heart presently to forgive him, do at least try to keep yourself open to the possibility down the line. You may be surprised by the results."

Looking up, I can see that there is sincerity welling on his emerald gaze. And — for once — I don't doubt the true intent of his words. "Thanks. I'll think about it."

"As diplomatic as ever," he smiles, the tips of his fingers brushing down my back as he drops his hand. "And, regardless of what you choose to do, I'll be right by your side to support you."

"Thanks," I mutter with what I hope is a genuine smile, suddenly acutely aware of the fact that with Drake’s abrupt departure, it’s just me and Christian amongst the trees. Taking a step back towards the way I’d come, I ask, "So, umm... How did you end up finding him?"

"Instagram," replies Christian with a wry chuckle as he falls into step beside me.

My head snaps up in bewilderment. "He posted his whereabouts?"

"No," he laughs, looping my arm through his in reassurance. "Not intentionally, at any rate. He took shelter on his cousin's yacht docked off the coast of the Palm Jumeirah, and—"

"What's that?" I ask with a frown.

"One of a trio of artificially constructed archipelagos located off the coast of Dubai," he explains. "They are so called for their shape, which resemble stylised palm trees."

"Sounds... fancy," I admit, while trying to maintain some semblance of platonic distance between the two of us.

"They really are a sight to behold," he affirms, pulling me back to his side. "But it is part of the reason why we were not able to locate him initially — we knew he has family in the Emirates, of course, but—"

"He does?" I interject in surprise. This is certainly news to me...!

"Yes," he nods. "His father is a Cordonian nobleman, but his mother hails from the House of Al Falasi, the branch of the Bani Yas tribe that also produced Dubai's ruling family."

My eyes widen. "So, his mom is royalty?"

"No," chuckles Christian. "She is not directly connected to the Al Maktoum dynasty. But her family is nevertheless influential in the region. Which is why when we hit a roadblock with the French authorities, we decided to focus our efforts on countries where we knew he had familial or business connections. The Emirates, however, boast a multitude of private airfields, not to mention water-based ports of entry, so attempting to narrow down Tariq’s possible time and method of arrival and determining where he went from there was providing to be a complex undertaking. Especially since we had to ensure to conduct our enquiries outside of the official channels."

"Specifically, via social media," I supply dryly.

"Yes," confirms Christian, only half jokingly. "When we realised that Tariq must have switched off or changed out his phone, Drake suggested that we set up a facial recognition-based search algorithm that could scour the various social media and news portals in a bid to help us pinpoint his exact location."

"That sounds... technical," I admit.

"A few years ago, it would have been, But the technology is relatively commonplace now, thankfully."

"So, you managed to get a hit?"

"Yes," he affirms. "One of his cousins on his mother's side posted a selfie featuring his new yacht a couple of days ago... and someone who partially matched Tariq's features was visible on the edge of the frame. But it wasn't until this morning that our man on the ground was able to obtain independent confirmation that it really was him."

"Wow..." I manage. "Talk about blind, dumb luck."

"Never underestimate the awesome power of serendipity," counsels Christian with a smile as we reach the edge of the trees again. "It certainly played a hand in crossing our paths."

I swallow nervously. "Yeah, I—"

"You have some nerve!"

Before I have a chance to realise what is happening, Madeleine has swooped in from seemingly out of nowhere to intercept us with all the wrathful precision of a homing missile.

"Ow!" I hiss, feeling the ends of her manicured nails sink into my arm as she wrenches me off Christian like I'm some kind of plague.

"One would think you would be grateful to His Majesty for his benevolent generosity in elevating your previously non-existent status to that of a duchess," she spits with barely disguised contempt as she pulls me nose-to-nose with her.

"Get off me!" I grit, trying to shake her loose.

"Madeleine..." interjects Christian from behind me in a voice that I only heard him use once before... in the hallway at Ramsford when he realised that Drake had brought me back to Cordonia. "You overstep."

But the Countess of Fydelia seems to hear neither of us as she tightens her claw-like hold on me. "Yet instead, you repay him by not only by hijacking a royal event to serve your own shameless self-aggrandisement—"

I shake my head in disbelief. "Wait... Wh—?"

"—but then you have the unmitigated gall—"

"Madeleine," says Christian again, more forcefully this time. "That is enough."

But Madeleine is oblivious to the quiet threat suffused into the sound of her name, choosing to continue her tirade instead, "—to sneak off into the bushes with my fiancé in order to do God-knows-what when he should be—"

"I said, enough!" snaps Christian, coming suddenly between Madeleine and me with a face of thunder.

The force of his command is loud enough to cause a few heads on the edge of the lawn to turn curiously towards us.

Even Madeleine startles somewhat in response to the uncharacteristically vehement order. But not enough to let go of me.

"Can you not see what she is doing?" she demands indignantly as she turns to face Christian. "Or does she have you wrapped so tightly around her finger that you cannot even—?"

"How I choose to spend my time with the Duchess of Valtoria in private is of no concern to you, Countess," interjects Christian bluntly. "Or do I need to remind you of the conditions of our engagement?"

Madeleine's alabaster cheeks flush scarlet. "No..."

"Then I strongly suggest that you unhand Lady Harper, and ensure that this kind of juvenile outburst does not happen again."

Madeleine's eyes blaze with cold fury. But she relinquishes her hold on me, nevertheless. "My apologies, Duchess..." she snips, her voice dripping with insincerity.

I reach up to rub the spot where her nails had been on the verge of puncturing my skin.

Bitch...

Christian nods tersely in approval. "Now that that is sorted, I believe our guests are waiting. Lady Madeleine, if you'd be so kind..."

Madeleine takes his arm with a look that could've killed. "Of course, Your Majesty."

"Lady Harper," acknowledges Christian with a dip of his head as he starts to steer his seething fiancée away.

Knowing that all eyes are still on us, I drop into a quick curtesy as they walk past, on one hand grateful to Christian for shutting Madeleine down, but on the other hand wondering how badly we kicked into a nest of hornets in the process.

As it is clear that Madeleine is still raging with jealous insecurity... Perhaps even more so than she had been back at her manor when she cornered me in the bathroom. And the fact that — despite the massive diamond on her finger — I now technically outrank her is definitely not helping the situation!

So much for making allies at court…

Blowing a wayward strand of hair out of my face, I turn back towards the festivities…

…only to be greeted by a wall of judgemental eyes, and more than a few camera lenses.

"Great..." I mutter under my breath.

Whether catching me with Christian had been the genuine straw that snapped Madeleine's cool, or whether she deliberately fabricated the showdown to undermine the positive reactions I got from the press earlier, the end result is the same...

I'm going to be on the front page tomorrow. Again.

Exactly in what form, I have no idea. But I've been at court long enough now to know that the whole thing will be blown completely out of proportion, and the resulting story will generate even more press frenzy.

But if there’s one thing that Drake has taught me, it’s that I cannot allow myself to give the aristos the satisfaction of ever thinking that they’ve managed to squash me into the dirt. Because that would undermine the entire reason why I came back to court in the first place, and given how close we now are to claiming back the truth, it would be a massive and premature admission of defeat.

So, raising my chin defiantly, I make my way back across the lawn to rejoin the remainder of the Festival.

The story continues in Chapter 17 - News Flash

Permatags

@twinkleallnight @lovingchoices14 @kingliam2019 @petiteboheme @angelasscribbles @aussiegurl1234 @nestledonthaveone @queen-arabella-of-cordonia @tessa-liam @alyshak92 @secretaryunpaid @princessleac1 @walkerdrakewalker @tinkie1973 @twinkle-320 @knaussal @nikkis1983 @lunaseasblog @ficloverevie @indiana-jr @differenttyphoonwerewolf @kristinamae093 @eversoaringqueen12 @peonierose @3pawandme @alexabeta @veebug8 @fanfiction-she-wrote @queenmiarys @lancelotsimp @coco-lina-s @lolablackwrites @ivyflowers13 @persephone13 @hollygirl1269 @adri-ja-96 @harleybeaumont @katedrakeohd @uneravine @alj4890 @choicesficwriterscreations

(Less Than) Noble Intentions only (let me know if you want to be added!)

@thetruthisthatiloveyou @anakjaybon-blog

#harper gale #drake walker #the royal romance #less than noble intentions #king liam #maxwell beaumont #bertrand beaumont #olivia nevrakis #trr fanfic #cfwc fics of the week #choices fic writers creations #choicesmonthlychallenge #choicesjanuary2024 #Spotify

[asha-mage]

WoT Musing: Bits and Bobs from a book nerd

A few unsorted/random thoughts from a book mega nerd about various things in the show-

It's interesting to me that they changed Logain's innate talent from being able to see ta'veren to being able to see when a man can channel or not. This is practically probably because Mat was also in that scene, but I've also noticed that they've dialed back on the use of the term 'ta'veren' as a whole this season. Probably to avoid over cluttering all the concepts their having to introduce.

Elayne's desire to work with her hands/fascination with craftsmanship showing itself in her 'sparker trick' being a weave to make alcohol is very funny and on brand.

The show is continuing to walk out the small shifts in it's dynamics born of re-ordering things in a smart way. Everyone being slightly older was felt sharply in season 1: Mat's mischief and gambling is a whole lot less cute and a whole lot more worrying since he's no longer a teen, Perrin is married (like always intended to be) and settled as the most 'responsible' of the boys, etc. In season 2 Egwene arrived first instead of Elayne, and is the more experienced/knowing Novice, to Elayne's naive newcomer. As a result we get to see the slightly spoiled sweet girl she was before the Tower started to bust down her pride and teach her more about the world. She's a little more unsure, and a little more eager to make friends- both of which work in favor of showing off her strengths as a character, endearing her to both Egwene and the audience.

The choice to give Perrin the ability to see visions of the past with his wolf brother powers is interesting. I get that they need a visual way to express Perrin's wolf senses, and this is probably the most direct, since their's not a non-weird way to visually depict smell, but I hope we at least get a TAR related explanation from Elyas.

I find the use of the Crimson Thorn as a symbol of the Red Ajah and the cruel mercy that they grant to be fascinating. More over, I find Nynaeve's being pulled between the Red and Yellow Ajahs (something I suspect we are going to get more of) to be smartly done: Nynaeve has never been afraid of doing what needs to be done, but that doesn't make it easy, and Liandrin is right: to an extent that their always been a little bit of Red in her, a belief that the world would be better if everyone just followed her rules. And yet it is her compassion that defines her, that fuels her rage most of the time. Compassion for those hurt and sick and dying turns to rage against what caused it: a cruel world or a war or a sickness. Compassion for those she cares most for fuels her rage at those that would threaten, hurt, or control them. She left the Two Rivers to protect the EF5 and that remains her goal all the way to the series's end, her character arc is largely about accepting what that will mean, and learning not to be afraid to claim the power to do that.

I've said this in various other forms but it bares repeating: Lanfear really is winning right out the gate. She's got the hot new hardware LTT as her naive sugar baby, their is no one in sight to threaten her control over him with things like 'morals' and 'duty', and he's slowly succumbing to her influence. More then worth the price of having to run a small business in a slum I'm sure.

That said I want a 50k word fic that is just Lanfear's Adventures in Small Business Ownership. We know those drinks where over priced, but where they watered down? Did she have to pay a mortgage? Deal with uppity suppliers? Was their a Darkfriend Company Discount as Selene's Totally Normal And Not At All Evil Bed and Breakfast?

I have two nitpicks that are so minor they barely warrant discussion, and one is not even the show's fault. The first is that everyone keeps saying things like 'your powers' rather then 'strength in the power'. Jordan goes to so much trouble to make the point that people and objects don't have the power, they use it and strong in the power, and then Sanderson changed it to 'my powers' and 'how powerful he is' and *gargles*. This is like the peaches all over again.

The second is that as much as they nail the arches scene/ceremony, I wish they had gone the final mile and said 'Be steadfast'. It wasn't necessary exactly, but it's exclusion made me whisper under my breath, like a rhyme I just HAD to finish.

(This is completely normal and sane person behavior, stop looking at me like that internet stranger).

I don't have to much to say about Mat's story line beyond being VERY interested in where they are going tying him and Min together. I still needs to get off the ground for me to have more Thoughts.

Adeleas being Cringefail re: Lan is so funny to me in ways I can't quite explain.

I reiterate the point that since Rand's can't be Warder trained, giving him an old veteran blade master who is suffering from PTSD/Dementia was a VERY smart move that fits the feel of the books.

RIP Joshua's soft boy curls. You where a casualty of this war.

#WoT #Wheel of Time #WoT Musing #WoT Book Spoilers #ToM Spoilers #WoT On Prime #WoT s2 e3

[bubbieboy]

bliss redesign based off one I made in my teens

thought process + various other bits and bobs under the cut

I was 15 and annoyed by everything that moved when this character first came out, so in my own head I was very much making a Point with this redesign. Hence, I made very minimal changes. I wanted to work with what was already there and basically just make the existing design more thought-through. Little breakdown ahead (keeping in mind i myself am very much An Amateur who doesn’t know shit and am just ranting about my opinions and i also haven’t seen a single second of the 2016 reboot so i don’t know much about Bliss to begin with)

1. one of my Biggest pet peeves with Bliss is that the powerpuff girls each have bangs that are simple, memorable, and iconic while also being unique from each other and being reminiscent of irl little girls hairstyles. It’s very neat and clever and I like it a lot

and then Bliss has this confusing jumble of shapes that looks like it changes in style halfway across her forehead

i have absolutely no idea what the intent is here. My only guess is maybe it’s meant to look weird on purpose like she was trying to cut it herself or something (I suspect it’s something like that since she seems to have normal looking bangs as a little kid from what I can see) but it doesn’t really come off that way if that’s the case. It just looks like baby’s first PPG OC where you Understand that it’s meant to be hair and that it is made out of shapes but have 0 understanding of hairstyle or character design in general. Heck I might have put this exact hairline on a character in the past at the age of like 8

So in my redesign she’s got 5 even notches across her bangs, not thee most exciting change but it does the job I think. It is pretty reminiscent of Blossom but they look different enough from each other that I wasn’t too worried about it

2. low-hanging fruit time, Bliss’s hair color is horrible on the eyes. I’m bewildered at the decision to do this, especially since there is just so much of it, I struggle to think of how she could exist in any scene without hogging all the viewer’s attention constantly. That said, I understand they wanted her to have an unnatural hair color to really signal that she is a Fresh new Teen character from the late 2010’s, which is. Whatever, that’s fine, so she gets purple hair now. I kept the streak for the same reason, especially since she’s got a lot of hair, so no harm in a little extra interest in there.

I also learned recently that her hair glows sometimes? which i did Not know when first drawing her but well i think the darker color helps anyway. It adds some contrast for when she’s normal vs when she’s glowing and makes the latter appear more,, idk threatening or powerful or whatever the mood generally is when she’s doing that.

I did re-add that toothpaste blue to her eyelids though. I like to think it’s also the color of her lasers. It’s a cute color, just not as like 70% of this character’s palette

3. real talk I was drawing this from memory and didn’t mean to change the way her hair flares out from her head. realistically I think the original is fine, maybe just a little boring but fine, so that part of the redesign was an accident. Only thing is, it’s in the exact same position in every screenshot I’ve seen? It doesn’t seem to whip around when she’s flying or anything which looks weird and probably looks weirder in motion, especially since it takes up so much space onscreen. Idk it’s a strange decision, esp since the original show liked to use the ppg’s hair to emphasize their movement, so I’d just bring more movement into her hair. I mean if nothing else it’d make her look cooler.

very very rough little visual of what I mean

I also ended up making it shorter in my redesign—again, not really intentional, but I think it’s better that it eats up a little less of her silhouette

4. Her headband is largely the same, I didn’t hate the idea of her having an accessory, so I just toned down the colors. I’m not personally a fan of the powder blue and that pink heart is very bright and just doesn’t go with the rest of her (once again the color of her hair is doing it no favors). I also moved the heart over. Not necessarily needed I think, but I feel like it reads quicker as a headband and not a weird crown that way+introduces some asymmetry into her design that I think is nice.

5. my biggest gripe other than her bangs are her hips. I’m not against adding anatomy to this character design to make her read visually as older than the girls, but it’s so awkwardly done and distracting. I feel like it even interferes with her line of action more often than not (which is not helped by her unmoving hair).

Part of the issue is she still has the teeny tiny torso, just… with those square-ish hips slapped on, which makes her legs look all gangly and stretched out. I tried to balance out the proportions more in my redesign, as well as change the hips to a flared skirt. I think it helps differentiate her from the girls and still implies hips underneath, it just also functions as a less clunky transition from her torso to her legs.

Lengthening her torso also allows the stripe to look more like a belt above the skirt, which I think helps to sell her as “similar, but not the same” from the ppg

6. Her leggings(? Idk Im not a fashion person) aren’t a bad idea I think. like a more mature version of the girls’ stockings, but I think the white makes them look really distracting. It would help to make them a darker color I think, but since I wanted to keep them reminiscent of the girls’ socks I kept them white and just shortened them.

7. Not really sure what Bliss is wearing on her feet. I think they’re Mary Janes, but they’re drawn a bit different from the girls’ and I honestly think it’s too babyish a shoe for her to wear. I’m not sure what she’s actually wearing in my redesign either honestly, but the goal was just to make them look like the girls’ Mary Janes while clearly being something different.

8. Uh her signature color is something I’ve contemplated changing a lot but to be real I think it’s fine. I feel it was a very bad idea from a marketing standpoint because people were hype about Bunny and would obviously be mad they didn’t get her once the character actually dropped (and in the long-run she would just end up being overshadowed by the character everyone has already assigned that color to) but I’m personally not bugged by her being purple beyond that. If I were to draw them together though I think Bunny would have a more pinky shade of purple and Bliss leans more blue.

Loosely on the same topic, because of Bliss I’ve had a running headcanon that “only child” types of powerpuffs tend to come out purple. Kind of like how trios tend to have a red, blue, and green. It’s a fun little piece of fake lore to rotate around in my brain

Anyway with all that out of the way, here’s some redesigns I decided to have some fun with. Wasn’t being too precious about recognizability or simplicity or anything like that, but I did run out of steam partway through. There’s also one based off Whoopass Bell bc idk, why not

Finally, here’s some OCs I only ever drew once before out of a desire to give Bliss her own teen girl archetypes to form a team with. This is Bee and Beetle, who I’ll probably definitely forget about again immediately after posting this

#ppg Bliss #the powerpuff girls #my art #powerpuff oc #under the cut anyway #trying to do an interesting background #i got bit by a drawing bug and felt the strong need to finish this post today #i’ve been meaning to put together some art and a little ramble about bliss for a while #largely because idk if or when i’ll ever actually talk about her again #i also skimmed through this post once or twice so sorry if it’s incoherent #anyway this took a long ass time i need to take a nap or something

[erikiara80]

Theory: Jancy’s first lie scene is also about Jopper and the curse

I was rewatching Murray scenes in S2 and S3 and I noticed something in this one I never did before. This could be a big evidence that young Jopper, or at least Hop, are really cursed and that they probably were together in the og timeline.

I talk about the possible hints that they were married and are Will and El’s parents here

So, I think the first parallel/connection is when Nancy and Jon mention the theory that El is russian (later they also drink vodka)

This is foreshadowing of Jopper’s storyline in S4, not Jancy’s. Hopper is in Russia, Joyce gets a doll from him but Murray suspects it might be pregnant with an explosive device. Something Owens compares El to a few episodes later. And interestingly the doll is actually “pregnant” with the message that Hopper is alive.

Then the first lie scene. If the vodka and the mention of Russia are foreshadowing of Jopper’s storyline in S4, this could be about their past

After Nancy and Jon say that they're just friends, Murray laughs. "You told me a lot of shockers today but that... that is the first lie.”

That reminded me of the First Shadow. In my defence, I couldn’t make the connection before they announced the prequel, lol.

And @chirpsythismorning noticed something very interesting. The song that plays when Hopper is stuck in the tunnels in S2 is Shadow in the tunnel. That doesn’t mean that he is the shadow, but that he is associated with it. 

Nancy insists: "It's not a lie." Murray: "No? You're young, attractive, you've got chemistry, history. Plus, the real shit. Shared trauma." This could be about young Jopper too. Because we know that something bad happened way before 1983. In 1959, the year Hopper said he started to feel cursed.

Murray continues and tells Jon (our Hopper here): "Trust issues, am I right? Something to do with your dad." 

"No, I mean, my dad is..." 

Nancy: "An asshole." This is about Lonnie, but it could also be about Hopper's father, who thought his son was a piece of shit.

@shippingfangirl013​ I have to quote you here:  And the “my dad is…” “An asshole” Paired with the “well they must have gotten married for some reason” in S1. “I wasn’t around for that part” = Jonathan’s parents being in love.

Yep.

And then Murray mentions a curse: “It's a curse to see so clearly."

First lie, First Shadow, and a curse...

Hopper is the only character who’s been saying since S1 that he feels like he’s cursed. In S4 he even says that HE is the curse. And Jo pointed out that episode 4x02, Vecna’s curse, starts with Hopper apparently dying, only to reveal that he’s actually alive. Hm, stuck in a loop, maybe? I’m working on a post about Hopper and the curse, but I’ll just say that after he wakes up in 4x02, we see Max wake up too, from a Vecna nightmare, we see the poster of The Endless Summer and hear the clock-bike sound effect. Here the video.

But back to Murray and the first lie. It’s Nancy’s turn. Murray tells her that she wants safety (like Joyce)

Then another big parallel with Jopper. The We like Steve (Bob) But we don’t love Steve (Bob) 

Murray calls Nancy out. Saying that she loves Steve (Bob) is the second lie of the evening (and so is Joyce not being with Jim, the man she loves)

As Kayla says: Safety = Bob = MK Ultra manipulation, because of the flashbacks she has in S3 after being around Hopper.

Then THIS poster. It never made much sense to me when I thought about Jancy. But it makes a lot of sense if the scene is not just about them, but a parallel with Jopper and Hopper, the cursed one.

Here another parallel. Murray tells Nancy and Jon to have sex. The same thing he tells Joyce and Hopper in S3.

(red and yellow here, El and Will’s colors)

And I think this is important. That night Nancy and Jonathan GET together, and we don’t see the poster when they kiss, because they're not the ones that are cursed. Hopper and Joyce Maldonado are. The part with Murray is the parallel with Jopper’s past. Someone has been watching them for a very long time.

Note: The poster is a Big Brother poster. Brother, The lost brother, the original title of The Lost sister, an episode with tons of references to One and the lab (here, here and here)

Kayla also made another great connection with the song at the end of S2, Every breath you take. Maybe it’s not just about Will or El. It’s about their family. They’re all there. Will, El, Jonathan, Hopper and Joyce.

And the last words we hear before the last shot, the Mind Flayer looming over the school: Oh don’t you see? You belong to me

(Water is always involved too, right? Sorry, just wanted to point it out)

So, in conclusion I think that this Jancy scene is Jopper coded and maybe it tells us what happened to them. 

The question is: why is Hopper cursed? Were he and the others there, Joyce, Bob, maybe Scott Clarke, when the exorcism happened and something went wrong? Or maybe they stopped Betty, who wanted to help Henry, because they wanted to protect her (if she's really Bob's sister it makes sense) But without her help, something horrible happened. Or maybe something bad happened to her.

I feel like Hopper did something that changed everything. Maybe he thought he was doing the right thing but he was wrong and made things worse. We’ll see!

Anyway, I really like this theory. Tagging you too @lilitblaukatz​ 

#jancy #jopper #willel twins #willel #st prequel #the first shadow #st vecna #joyce byers #jim hopper #jonathan byers #nancy wheeler #st parallels #st theory #stranger things

[approximateknowledge]

ok so now that everyone who will realistically ever give a shit has seen this:

well, hear me out, there's something very interesting about these chibi shorts beyond the superficial content;

they're *not actually canon*; what they are is characters reacting *to* the events of the arc. events that asuna wasn't there to witness

in the main canon, all she knows about what happened in that game is a few bits of BoB footage, and whatever sinon and kirito told her afterwards (which will have been rather bare-bones, considering both of their characters)

so the end result is that in these shorts we basically have an AU version of asuna who *does* know

and that got me thinking

the ggo avatar was *randomised*! the way she had fun with it speaks volumes of course, but it being there at all was a coincidence

but here's the thing: so was the original ALO avatar! (the second one wasn't)

^spikey little androgynous elf twink

so then...

what if the "random girl avatar" thing happened *then*?!

^add pointy ears and change the outfit a bit and there you go

this would've genuinely been just as likely as what happened in canon!

but the *consequences*!

because in this scenario she'd just end up saving asuna and kicking sugou's creepy kidnapping nepo-baby ass *looking like that*

and on top of that she'd probably end up behaving just as femme with leafa before that as she canonically did with sinon; but the different is leafa is *suguha*. her *sister*. and the moment they figure it out there'd be questions sugu would probably be asking!

and from the chibi shorts we already have official confirmation on how asuna would react; and i suspect sugu would be *very* in on it, especially because she and kirito do in fact still live with their mom in the same house irl

they wouldn't just "knowingly wait it out" like sinon does (because she absolutely knows)

conclusion: the only reason kirito's egg hasn't been cracked by force yet is because of the fact the most blatant egg shit happened in the one game the gang wasn't there to witness it

#ak goes insane #sao #transfem kirito #big rant #long post #do you see my vision?! #no i will not stop

[buildarocketboys]

Written for the day 6 @febuwhump, "you lied to me". Crossposted to AO3 here.

Pete kidnaps Patrick.

Please heed the tags!

Pete brings him a drink from the bar.

Patrick's eyes focus on him as he pushes through the crowd around the bar, burning so bright that Patrick has no eyes for anyone else. Certainly not the girl stroking his arm.

"Here you go, baby," Pete says, handing him his drink and slipping his now-free arm around his waist, glaring at the girl. She narrows her eyes at him before slinking off, tail between her legs.

"Saved you," Pete breathes hotly in his ear.

Patrick shakes his head, although he can't hide how pleased he is. "She wasn't doing any harm."

"Patrick! She was older than me. You are a young, nubile, hot property of 17 years old. She was perving on someone who wasn't even legal!" Pete's hand slips lower, fondling Patrick's ass.

Patrick raises his eyebrows. "If she's a perv, what does that make you?"

Patrick is fascinated by the way Pete's eyes flutter closed, the way his Adam's apple bobs up and down as he swallows and bites his lip, expression darkening. "Patrick-"

Patrick bats at his arm lightly. "I was joking!" He wasn't, really, but- he wishes Pete's hand hadn't disappeared from his ass. If Pete is a perv, Patrick is happy to be perved on.

He takes a sip of his drink to stop him from staring at Pete's mouth. Then he frowns.

"What's in this drink, Pete?" he asks. "It tastes kind of weird."

"It's rum and coke," says Pete, eyebrows drawing together. His eye is twitching a little. "I don't know what you mean." He laughs a little too loudly. "Unless that chick spiked your drink!"

Patrick rolls his eyes and downs his drink so he doesn't have to taste it for too long.

That's the last thing he remembers until he wakes up in Pete's basement.

He doesn't realize anything is wrong at first. His head hurts, his mouth is drier than the Sahara and his vision is kind of fuzzy, but it's not the first time he's woken up hungover in Pete's basement after a house party. Sure, he usually ends up in Pete's bed, but-

But he wasn't at a house party.

He blinks his eyes open properly, raising his hand against the fluorescent light on the ceiling. He squints toward the door, which is closed. He opens his mouth to call Pete's name, and then realizes there's a strip of fabric tied over his mouth, and another wad of material stuffed inside. It's soaked up most of the moisture in Patrick's mouth, which explains why it feels so dry. He tries to pull it away from his face, but his fingers are clumsy and uncoordinated.

Patrick feels the first twinge of fear then, but he pushes it down. He calls Pete anyway, his voice muffled by the fabric. Then he shouts louder.

He gives up, his voice hoarse. This is probably Pete's idea of a prank, he thinks.

But there's a seed of doubt in his mind. Pete's pranks are stupid, and annoying, and sometimes gross. But they're rarely cruel.

Patrick sits up on the sofa and notices for the first time that he's naked apart from his underwear. What the hell had happened last night?

He sticks his hand in his underwear, checking- well. Just checking. He's not yet ready to acknowledge what he suspects might be going on here.

He braces himself, and stands up. The world wobbles a bit, but then rights itself. He stumbles to the door. This is gonna be so embarrassing, especially if Pete's not in to explain, but he has no idea what the time is or what happened last night, and he wants answers.

The door is locked.

Patrick sinks to the floor and his stomach sinks with him. He's starting to feel real fear. 

Did Pete lock him in here? Who else would have locked him in what he's certain is Pete's basement?

He feels sick to his stomach.

He raises his fist to hammer on the door, to bring someone down to let him out, but he hesitates. What if Pete's mom comes down? He doesn't want her to see him like this. And he doesn't want to get Pete in trouble.

Even if he's kidnapped you? asks the little voice in his head that he's trying to ignore.

He waits for several more minutes, hoping against hope Pete will open the door and come in grinning, laughing at Patrick for falling for it.

When Pete doesn't appear, Patrick takes a deep breath and hammers on the door, yelling as loud as he possibly can through the gag. It's only several minutes later, his voice going hoarse, when he hears the key turning in his lock.

He scrambles back from the door just in time to see Pete swing it open and step in.

He's so relieved to see Pete that he doesn't even consider running for it.

Pete pushes the door shut behind him, leaning back against it. "Calm down," he says. "Don't want to destroy your pretty voice, do we now?"

Patrick glares at Pete. He feels tears prick at his eyes and blinks them away angrily.

"'Oo lie do me," he says.

Pete raises his eyebrows. "What was that?" He pulls the gag down and tugs the was of material out of his mouth, leaving his fingers in there.

"You lied to me," Patrick says, a little more clearly, trying to spit Pete's fingers out of his mouth. Pete backs off, holding his hands up, but he's smirking a little - almost in spite of himself.

"What are you talking about?"

Patrick scowls. "I asked you what was in the drink. You said it was rum and coke."

"It was rum and coke," Pete says slowly, like Patrick is a bit dim. 

"Yeah, and Rohypnol!" Patrick spits.

Pete looks hurt. "I was looking after you, Patrick!"

Patrick frowns, uncertain for a second. "By gagging me and locking me in your basement?"

Pete is silent. He just looks at Patrick with his big sad eyes, and Patrick's always been a sucker for him, even now, even when he's spiked his drink and stripped him naked and gagged him and locked him in the basement.

Patrick sighs. "Is this some kind of stupid prank or something?"

Pete shrugs and shakes his head, looking pained.

Patrick feels ice gush into his stomach. "Did you spike my drink?" he asks heavily. Looking Pete in the eye. Like that'll make him tell the truth. Like Patrick has any power over him here. Like he ever did.

Pete doesn't answer. Patrick wants to think that maybe it wasn't Pete who spiked his drink; maybe it was that girl, somehow, like Pete had said. Pete would never hurt him.

Even though all the evidence points to otherwise.

Patrick waits. When Pete doesn't seem inclined to answer, Patrick takes a deep breath and asks his last question. "Are you gonna let me out of here?"

Pete shakes his head, refusing to meet Patrick's eye. He turns toward the door. "I'm sorry, Patrick," he says. He gags Patrick again, more tightly this time, and backs out of the room. He shuts the door behind him.

Patrick hears the click of the lock echoing in his ears for hours afterward.

#kidnapping #dead dove do not eat #dark fic #drink spiking #please pay heed to the warning tags here/on ao3 thanks! #peterick #my writing #febuwhump #febuwhumpday6

[darklydeliciousdesires]

The Dark Passenger - Chapter Seven.

Thank you to everyone for your interactions! I have noticed these dwindling of late, though, just 18 notes for the last chapter. Surely we can do better? If not, I might have to bring the unlocking system back and only release a new chapter when the previous one hits a set number of notes.

Previous chapters - One  Two  Three  Four  Five  Six

Words - 3,212

Warnings - 18+ content throughout, minors DNI!

Tag list - In the comments. Please DM to be added/removed

“Is that a birthmark?”

She thinned her lips, trying not to laugh. “Nope.”

“Sock mark?”

She shook her head, EZ eyeing her ankle again. “Okay, I give in. What is it?”

“Fake tan cling.” The face he pulled had her in soft fits. “I know, I know! It’s shameful, given that I do these professionally. I got a rub from new shoes and then after it had almost healed, I didn’t want to exfoliate and knock the scab, but my tan needed topping up and I don’t do the sunbeds or sunbathing, so yeah. Sorry, that was probably as boring as watching paint dry for you.”

He cocked his head, kissing the side of her foot. “Little bit.”

She gasped, mock aghast. “You’re not supposed to admit it!”  

“Hey, at least I don’t lie!”  

Except he did. All the time to her, Camille having absolutely no idea, either. At least in that moment, though, EZ was actually having a sincerely good time without resorting to any game playing, somewhat wedged in her bath, sat at the opposite end, rubbing her tired feet for her. These moments did happen, where he didn’t feel overwhelmed by the need for control or manipulation, when he just enjoyed Camille for who she was, how he felt when she was with her, and not the hoops he could stealthily make her jump through.  

“Damn, you girls have so much stuff, I swear. What, do you get a product discount at the salon or something?” he remarked, eyes touring the bathroom, especially round the outside of the tub as he began picking things up. “Exfoliating face polish, exfoliating body polish... are they not the same things? Little bits of grit suspended in some kind of perfumed goo?”

“No, they’re different,” she began, taking the face one from him. “This one is finer, because body polish is too harsh for the face, the gritty bits you speak of are smaller, so it’s kinder to the more sensitive skin. This stuff is really, really good though. Here.”

Squeezing some out onto her fingertips, she reached for him, EZ recoiling. “Nope, I don’t need to be buffed, no!” He lifted his chin, resisting as she moved onto her knees between his legs, trying to apply it to his face. “Camille!”  

“Oh, sit still and let me pamper you!” He grunted with begrudging acceptance, scrunching his eyes tightly shut while she massaged the scrub over his face. “I thought you said the stuff for the face was finer?”

“It is,” she hummed, working it along the sides of his nose.

“It’s like being sandblasted!”

“Oh, EZ!” she snort laughed, fingertips working along his jaw. “For someone who has a scar on his abdomen that I suspect came from a bullet, you sure do complain.”  

He grumbled in mild complaint as she picked up a washcloth and began wiping down his face, EZ further crumpling his features. “I’d rather be shot again.”

“So dramatic,” she teased, bobbing her tongue between her teeth, giggling at the dark look he gave her.  

“No, dramatic is my brother,” he stated.

“Does his wife attack him like this too, then?”

“I have no idea, but she waxed his chest once and he screamed so loud, I swear, he nearly blew the clubhouse doors off,” he explained, beginning to laugh. “She’d been shopping with Gilly’s girl, and got these waxed paper things, so they’re sitting there doing their legs, and Angel being Angel said it couldn’t be that painful, so she stuck one on his chest and ripped. He nearly died! Said if she ever came near him with one again, he’d divorce her, and he was sticking with a razor.”  

“Yeah, it can be painful! You should let me do yours some time, though. It lasts longer than shaving,” she offered, EZ raising an eyebrow and shaking his head.  

“Absolutely not. I don’t get much anyway, just a small patch in the centre I shave off when I’m in the shower. I’m not like my brother, if he let his grow he’d look like a Persian rug.” She cracked up at his statement, her giggles escalating.  

“Bit like your balls then, huh?”

“Oh, screw you, Camille! I trim, I’m tidy!”

“What with, a weed whacker?”

He scowled, her giggles escalating. “Now you’re really gonna get it.” He lunged for her, blowing raspberries at the side of her throat as he tickled her beneath the water, water that sloshed out all over the floor as she scream laughed. What began as silly fun quickly gained heat, EZ lifting her from the water, carrying her soaking wet body to her bedroom and throwing her down onto the bed, diving on her with hunger. Pretty quickly, though, she was the one to top him, in a way that had EZ absolutely out of his mind with arousal.  

“You look very content down there, I, ahhh, I have to say,” she purred softly, watching his eyes burn gold in the dim light coming from the many candles she’d paused to light, his tongue dragging through her folds as she grinded herself against it, his hands stroking her thighs as she sat astride his face.  

“I have a mouthful of my favourite thing in the entire world, of course I am.” Her hips gyrated in serpentine, tender, wet folds dragging over his plump lips, his chin, his nose, getting herself off on the angles of his face, just as he wanted, soaking him with her dew. His tongue darted out again, catching her sensitive, swollen clit, her mewl filling the room as she continued to rock back and forth, back and forth.

She whined, and it was the most beautiful sound to him, Camille utterly lost in the tempest of the moment, slow and winding, her nails flexing upon his powerful forearms, his tongue swiping through her folds as she purled forth again, drowning him in the slick gush from her hot, pulsing cunt, like a honey pot dripping into his eager mouth. “Yeah, my gorgeous baby. Get me wet. Fuck, you taste incredible.”

Every word uttered had her pulse throbbing madly, her pleasure ascending, EZ pulling her down closer to him, lifting his chin as she moved back once more, her gaping opening stimulated by the press of it, his tongue pushing within, grunting as he felt her muscles pulse against it. He let her ride it, circling, his nose nudging deliciously at her clit before she slid up once more, shaking, overcome.

“Oh fuck, I’m gonna cum!” she wailed, his lips enveloping her clit and sucking until the lightning struck home, her tingles wild and tempestuous as her pussy melted into his mouth. “Oh my god, that was amazing!” What followed, though, well...

His many inches of thick, hot heaven stroked pure ebullience against her sensitive walls, her dainty fingers clutching at her breasts as he held her thighs apart, fucking her frantically, sexually decimating her insides, giving himself with keenly delivered thrusts. Actually, keen was not a word that could be used to describe the utter pounding Camille was receiving.

What he gave was all-out sexual brutality, the headboard banging against the wall, her body sliding back only for the clutch of his powerful hands to keep hauling her back, anchoring her to him, forcing her to take the brunt of it entirely. And that brunt, nothing could feel better. Nothing did feel better than EZ, fucking her with all the power of a turbo charged jackhammer. Nothing.  

His body was an absolute masterpiece to her lust blown eyes, all thick, tattooed and smooth, covered in a sheen of sweat as he railed her mercilessly into the bed, his thumb beginning to stroke at her hardened clit as the punch of his cock drew lewd noises from within her soaking walls, pleasure crackling through her, the swell skittering through her veins and down to her bones as she wailed helplessly, at the mercy of him entirely.

“Look at you, fuck. You look so fucking beautiful, split around my dick.” he growled, grasping her legs and hauling them up to rest against his chest, turning his head to lay kisses and little bites at her ankle, adding to the teeth marks he’d left over her already, the brandings from a man near out of his mind with carnal fury.

He then slowed, each plunge into her fluttering centre given in all-in, all-out thrusts, teasing her aching core, chuckling at her frustrated little mewls as he panted hard. “EZ, please! Fucking give it to me!” she demanded, nails raking his arms.

“But I am, querida. Just not the way you want it.” he winked, laughing further at her vexation, the circles at her clit rubbed so slowly, lightly and tightly that she almost forgot to breathe, his cock popping out again, pausing, arrowing back to her summit as he groaned, her slick muscles contracting on him tightly. He leaned forward, her knees touching to her chest, bearing his weight down through his pelvis right into the very plush of her, kissing her throat before gently clutching her jaw, turning her head to look at him. “Alright, my little dove. I’ll give it to you.”

And god, how he did, sending Camille to the edges of heaven, the way he arrowed into her without even a hint of control, long, hard, barbarous thrusts delighting her entire body, her screams filling the room as lava began to bubble and pool at the base of her spine, the release set to erupt, his thumb circling at her bud faster.  

His teeth crushed at her neck, whispering a string of cusses as his undoing possessed him, like a demon vying for release, her entire body tensing as with fury, longing and fire, she came undone spectacularly beneath him, seeing stars, breathless and sweaty, and oh so very satisfied. Such was the measure of that satisfaction, they both fell into dreamy slumber soon after, pleased that neither of them had anywhere to be the following morning.  

It was just coming up to 10am when a noise from the front door awoke EZ, his head shooting up, senses on high alert. Camille might have lived in a decent neighbourhood, but you could never be so sure. Pulling his boxers on, he picked up his gun from where he’d left it upon the dresser, toeing the partially ajar bedroom door open and waiting, hearing someone walking down the hallway. He stepped out at speed, gun primed, the air filled with a scream.  

“Oh Jesus Christ!” Marge yelled at suddenly being confronted by a huge, barely dressed, gun toting man, dropping the hessian bag she’d been carrying onto the hallway floor, resting a hand to her chest as she heard a scrambling noise coming from the bedroom. Immediately, EZ lowered his gun.  

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he began, Marge feeling like she’d just birthed her own spleen. “Camille didn’t tell me you were coming over. You’re Marge, right?”  

“Yes, at least I was until ten seconds ago. I’m now Marge’s ghost. And you are?”

“EZ.” He offered his hand, Marge shaking it just as Camille appeared behind him.  

“Sorry, I should have mentioned that mom sometimes comes over unannounced,” she spoke, kissing his shoulder as she slid past him, EZ nodding before excusing himself to dress. Thank fuck they hadn’t been partaking in anything even remotely similar to what they had prior to falling asleep, or her mother would have gotten a different surprise altogether, one distinctly more embarrassing, too.  

While EZ dressed, Camille ushered her mother into the kitchen, closing the door behind them, Marge setting her bag down before turning back to her daughter, her eyes wide, jerking her head towards the door. “That’s one tall drink of water.”

Switching the coffee machine on and tightening the silky tie of her floral robe, Camille nodded, grinning. “Isn’t he?”  

“And how long have you been with him for? I take it this is new, since mommy here knows nothing of him?”  

“A few months now, but it’s going really well.”

“Alright, and tell me, why does he carry a damned semi-automatic handgun?”  

Marge Smith was nothing if not extremely direct, Camille beginning to feel a little uneasy. “Protection. He lives in the lesser nice area of Santo Padre. Besides, mommy, you carry!”

“Yeah, but I’m five two and stumpy. Women like me get car jacked, I’m a target. He’s no damned target!” They shared laughter there, Marge continuing. “And what in the hell kind of name is EZ?”

Oh, she was on form that morning, the spritely redhead beginning to unload the bag she’d brought with her, freshly baked bagels placed on the counter, a tub of cream cheese following.  

“It’s short for Ezekiel,” Camille informed her, pulling coffee cups from the cupboard.

“I like that, yeah, that’s a good name. Very biblical.” She paused, chewing the inside of her cheek for a moment. “Quite the contradiction, since the body on him is built for nothing but sinning.”

“Mommy!” Her daughter’s cry had her in soft fits, Marge pulling homemade jam and some smoked meats from the bag, her purchases from the farmer’s market that morning up in La Jolla she’d decided to spoil her daughter with.  

“Well!” Taking the package of prosciutto over to the fridge once she’d pulled out a few slices, she playfully smacked Camille’s arm with it, her smile full of menace. “You really gonna tell me you were up playing dominoes all night with him, hmm? I saw the nail marks on his chest, my girl.”

“You are not like other mothers,” she sighed with a smidgen of embarrassment, taking the ground coffee and pouring it into the top of the machine.  

“No, I’m a realist. Always have been. I’ll leave thinking you’re still a sweet little virgin princess who’s saving herself for marriage to daddy,” Marge spoke, picking up the jam jars and placing those in the fridge too, Camille mouthing her thanks for the grocery treats. “You’re welcome, chickadee.” Giving her a hug, she kissed her cheek, humming softly. If Marge Smith lived for anything at all, it was her three children, Camille the eldest at twenty-five, Candiace next at twenty-one, and Corey the youngest at seventeen.

Marge was mid-way through toasting a stack of bagels when a freshly showered EZ walked in, thinking he could be courteous enough to not reek of the fact he’d been banging the woman’s daughter for half the night, since he was set to sit down at a table with her.  

“So, EZ,” she began, handing him a plate with a cream cheese and prosciutto smothered bagel and a smile. “Tell me about yourself.” He did as they sat, of course leaving a lot of details out, Marge spotting it instantly, but also wondering something else much more prevalent.  

“You seem a smart kid, I gotta say it,” she began, EZ looking a little entertained.

“At almost thirty-five, I’m not really a kid any longer,” he snorted softly, his big grin still in place to indicate no offense was either meant or taken.

“I’m fifty-two, so to me, you’re a kid still. Deal with it,” she spoke through her kind smile, EZ noticing just how forthright and direct she was, but friendly with it. Camille was very different to her mother in that respect, much timider. “Anyway, as I was saying, you’re smart. What the hell are you doing working at a scrap metal yard with those brains?”  

Camille noticed him stiffen a little, but wondered what his response would be. He was articulate and bright, it was obvious he’d paid attention at school and likely gone to college, too. She wondered the exact same thing, in all truth.  

“Well, I was on a completely different trajectory. I did two years at med school, training to be a doctor until suffering a traumatic event that resulted in the death of my mom. If it’s okay with you, I don’t mean to shut you down, but I’d like to leave it there.” He had to keep up an image of a somewhat respectable man, he realised, so wasn’t about to reveal that he’d served eight years for killing a police officer in the immediate wake of his mother’s murder.

Marge winced a little, her face full of sympathy. “Oh, I’m so sorry, EZ. That must’ve been awful.” She reached for him, rubbing his forearm affectionately, Camille hugging the top of his other arm from her seat beside him.  

“I didn’t know that. I’m sorry too, baby.” He smiled to indicate it was okay, kissing her head and wrapping his arm around her, Marge touched at how fond he appeared to be of her daughter, who she went on to speak of with pride in the name of changing the subject.  

“You know, some people lose a little of that sweet, childhood softness as they grow, but not my girl here,” Marge began warmly, reaching to stroke Camille’s hand. “I remember when she was four, and we’d gone back home to visit my mom in New Jersey, and there’s this little stream that backs along the rear of the property. Anyway, I’m busy feeding Candie, and suddenly Camie shoots off down the bank before I get chance to grab her, all because she saw a butterfly drowning in the water, so jumped in to save it.  

“There it was, this tiny little creature most wouldn’t have noticed struggling, and Camille spots it right away, covering herself in algae and mud in the process of retrieving it. Then years later when she was eighteen, we were coming back from a big beauty expo up in LA, and she swerved her car over suddenly, jumped out, and actually stopped the traffic in order to rescue a kitten from the middle of the highway. That kitten is now my pain in the ass, fully grown Maine Coon, who hates everyone bar me and this one.”

Marge stayed for another hour regaling him with stories of her daughter before having to leave, explaining that her husband was taking her out for a late afternoon lunch, and she wanted to get back and do ‘a little clean’ as she worded it, Camille knowing no such thing existed in the Smith household.  

It was while EZ had gone out back to take a phone call and Camille was searching through her beauty stash for some sample face masks she’d picked up for her mom that Marge noticed something concerning as she slid her feet back into her comfortable, blue moccasins. Her hand reached out to grasp the leather kutte hanging from the peg in the hallway, recognising the logo on the back. Mayans, California. And Ezekiel wasn’t just any Mayan either, he was the president of their town’s charter.  

It made a slither of fear trickle through her, knowing that beneath the veneer of the polite, smart and charming man she’d met, lay a man who was much more dangerous than he seemed. And her daughter was besotted with him.  

What could she do, though? She was twenty-five, a grown woman, capable of making her own decisions. She just had to hope that EZ wasn’t one she’d come to regret.  

#ez reyes #ez reyes fanfiction #ez reyes smut #ez reyes imagine #ez reyes x ofc #ez reyes fanfic #ez reyes fic #mayans mc #mayans mc fanfiction #mayans mc fanfic #mayans mc fic #mayans mc imagine #mayans mc smut

[duggardata]

Summary of Jed + Katey's "Love Story" Video

Recently, Jed + Katey told their "Love Story" via a YouTube vlog. (See Above.) The video is ~28 Minutes Long... Here's a summary—

Jed + Katey first met ("first sighting") in "April 2019." They didn't say it, but Duggar Data suspects this was probably at the ATI / IBLP Big Sandy Conference, which ran from April 29—May 3, 2019. They saw each other and met, but had minimal interaction.

They next saw each other in "February 2020," just before COVID–19 struck, during a week long prison ministry trip in Florida. Katey said that she'd previously worked on a longer–term basis in that ministry, and was simply returning for a short trip. (Based on this, it appears it was IBLP's Prison Ministry since Katey's Old Blog, which documents her time serving in a prison ministry, references specific elements of IBLP's program, like "Basic Seminar.") Duggar Data tried to figure out exactly what IBLP Prison Ministry they did, and when, and found this. As you can see, Jed and Jer—who also attended, per the "Love Story" vlog—are in the photo... So, it seems they went to Florida for a prison Journey to the Heart at "the end of February" 2020. Per Jed + Katey, it was a week–long program, and ended on a Friday... So, probably it ended on February 21 or 28, 2020.

Regardless... After that, Jed and Katey had both noticed the other in a potential romantic way. They told their respective parents about it, and—lo and behold—Jim Bob quickly devised a scheme to get Jed + Katey together again... In May 2020, Jim Bob bought a bus that was located in Phoenix, AZ. He invited Jed to come along, purportedly to help drive the bus back. He also arranged for them to stay w/ Katey's Family while they were in Arizona. At the end of the trip, they all went out for dinner near Phoenix; Jim Bob, Jed, Jer, Jinger, and Jeremy all attended this dinner, in addition to Katey's Family. This quite possibly occurred on the weekend of May 23–24, 2020, when all of the above named Duggars were sighted at a restaurant in Gilbert, AZ, very near Phoenix. Immediately after this dinner, Jed apparently told Jinger he believed Katey was "the one."

Sometime after that—and it didn't sound like it was very long after—Jed called Katey's Father, Kory, and expressed his interest in getting to know Katey and their family better. Jed and Kory proceeded to call each other and talk for a period of months. During this time, Katey is not speaking directly to Jed. Duggar Data would consider this Jed + Katey's "pre–courtship" phase, starting with Jed's phone call to Kory, formally asking permission to get to know Katey.

Finally, Jed + Katey began speaking directly in "August" 2020. (They specify that it was 6 Months before Jed proposed, and later also said that it was "August," which is consistent.) Duggar Data considers this their "courtship" phase, starting when they began talking directly.

Jed + Katey also confirm, once again, that he proposed on February 14, 2021 (Valentines Day). They picked the first available date for the wedding. Katey planned the whole thing in under a month.

At the end of the video, they also mention that they saved their First Kiss for the wedding day.

#Youtube #jed and katey